


Of Splendour In The Grass

by Lecrit



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alec is extra, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Angst, Captain Alec, England (Country), Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Forbidden Love, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Period-Typical Homophobia, Poetry, Shameless Mentions of Oscar Wilde, Smut, The author is extra and in love with Magnus Bane too so there's that, Victorian Idiots, but who wouldn't be when faced with Magnus Bane?, writer Magnus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-01-07 16:43:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 58,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12236748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lecrit/pseuds/Lecrit
Summary: Alec couldn’t remember the last time the Lightwood mansion had been so spirited.Even when their parents were away on business, the Lightwoods often had guests staying at the mansion, although it usually wasn’t for longer than for a night of festivities in the peak of the summer. Apparently - or so he had gathered from Isabelle’s fondly annoyed and persistent claims - this guest was special, not only because he wasn’t meant to stay for a single night, and not even because he wasn’t a potential business partner.“He is a celebrity,” Isabelle told him when he lifted an eyebrow at her, silently leveling her with a dubious look.The Victorian AU no one asked for, where Magnus and Alec fall in love through chess, poetry and whispers in the night, but nothing is that simple.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello cupcakes,
> 
> It's been a while, I know, and I wasn't even planning on posting anything today but it's Matt's birthday and I have 1,800 followers on Twitter so why the hell not?  
> This was supposed to be an OS but... y'all know me by now and I have zero chill so here we are, part one of I don't know how many yet but probably 3 or 4.
> 
> A big thank you to [Jackie](https://twitter.com/jwrites_), [Ketz](https://twitter.com/Ketz_CML), [Pravs](https://twitter.com/prettyboyyoongi) and [Mathilde](https://twitter.com/noksindra) for not stopping me when I started writing this even though I have 17,000 other shit to write. Love you lots. ❤
> 
> Happy reading!
> 
> Ps: #lecrit to live-tweet or you can tag me [here](https://twitter.com/_L_ecrit) ;).

Alec couldn’t remember the last time the Lightwood mansion had been so spirited.

Admittedly, most of that excitation was only Isabelle’s doing, for she had been restless ever since the sun had risen over the apple trees in the West gardens. He could only recall seeing her as excited as she was now when they had gone to Paris with their parents three years ago and they had visited the Louvre. Her eyes had glimmered and shone brighter than ever as they swept over the masterpieces of their age.

When Alec had received the letter from their parents, he hadn’t expected Isabelle to all but squeal in delight, before running through the mansion to the gardens to share the news with Max, whom she was sure to find there. Alec had shared a puzzled look with his adoptive brother Jace but he had been as clueless as Alec himself.

Even when their parents were away on business, the Lightwoods often had guests staying at the mansion, although it usually wasn’t for longer than for a night of festivities in the peak of the summer. Maryse sometimes felt like hosting a ball but Alec had learned very young that those were just an excuse to seal deals and expand their influence, one that already spread beyond the sea boarding his beloved Albion.

Apparently - or so he had gathered from Isabelle’s fondly annoyed and persistent claims - this guest was special, not only because he wasn’t meant to stay for a single night, and not even because he wasn’t a potential business partner.

“He is a _celebrity_ ,” Isabelle told him when he lifted an eyebrow at her, silently leveling her with a dubious look.

No matter how many times she would tell him, he never looked much more convinced than he did now.

It made perfect sense for her to be more acute to these things than he was, however. Alec had been away for three years, had left immediately after their trip to France and had only been back in London for a little over a month. His priority hadn’t been to catch up on the hearsays and socialite tales his sister was so fond of.

“I’m sure he is,” Alec said diplomatically. “But for now, he is our guest. Please treat him accordingly.”

Isabelle rolled her eyes, sending him a pointed glare that was very unladylike. “Are you telling me to behave? I’ve met the Queen, Alec. I think I know what to do.”

Alec smirked, leaning on his cane to shift his weight to his other leg, but didn’t reply. Isabelle scoffed, although there was the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

They were all standing by the iron gates that marked the entrance to the estate, in a perfect line that made the soldier in Alec almost proud.

The weather was brisk for the end of September, and the trees that lined the alley leading out of the estate and towards Hyde Park were already adopting the soft colors of fall, leaves swinging with the wind. It was that light breeze that brought the familiar sound of horse hooves trotting to their ears.

Alec straightened on his feet, hooking his hands behind his back. Isabelle shifted next to him, holding her chin up and schooling her features into an impassible mask - the way their mother had taught her. However hard she tried, she couldn’t quite hide her excitement, and Alec didn’t think she was aware of how her fingers were playing absently with the lace frills of her garnet dress.

“When was the last time we even had guests? _Real_ guests?” Jace asked to no one in particular, gesturing vaguely to the mansion at their backs.

Only silence answered him. It had been too long, long enough that they all had to dig into forgotten memories.

“I think it was Mr. Blackwell,” Max chimed in. “Last summer.”

“He only stayed for two nights,” Isabelle noted, shaking her head. “The last time we had a guest staying for longer than a week was when Aline visited. That was before Alec left.”

Alec pressed his lips into a thin line. The carriage was finally appearing in the horizon, dragged along by a chestnut horse that fitted perfectly in the landscape. “I should have worn my top hat,” he mumbled to himself.

“Yes, you should have,” Isabelle replied nonetheless, a hint of amusement tittering her tone. “Mother and Father would be livid if they knew you’re not.”

“Well, they’re not here,” Alec stated, tipping his head to look at her.

Her smile transformed into a smirk as she leaned in to murmur in his ear, just as Meliorn, their butler, moved forward to open the iron gates. “You should let that rebellious side of you out more often, dear brother.” There was no malice to her words, despite what they entailed. “It suits you.”

Alec shrugged. “It’s easier to relax without Father and Mother scrutinizing my every move, I suppose.”

“Could it have to do with not having to pretend to be someone you’re not, too?” Isabelle teased.

Frowning, Alec opened his mouth to reply but shut it immediately. There was no point in arguing with Isabelle. It wasn’t the time nor the place, and it was a lost cause anyway.

The carriage stopped in front of them almost on cue, and the driver hopped down from his seat, greeting them with a quick nod and a tight - forced - smile. His skin was pale, paler even than their own.

The driver didn’t say a word, moving to the side of the carriage to open the door.

“Thank you, Raphael,” a smooth, silvery voice said from inside.

A man stepped out of the carriage, and Alec was too focused on his every move to concentrate on the fact that his top hat would have indeed made him feel less underdressed.

He wore a tight-fitting black frock coat that stopped a few inches above his knees. It was opened on a three-piece grey suit that fitted his lean body perfectly, the broad line of his shoulders softened by the elegant deep blue Ascot tie around his neck. And, because Alec was apparently being played with by forces he couldn’t comprehend, on his head sat a fancy top hat.

It wasn’t enough to hide the man’s handsome features.

His triangular-shaped eyes drifted from the driver to the Lightwoods standing there to greet him and a wide smile cut through his face, suddenly ridden from the tiredness it had previously held.

It was a breathtaking smile in itself, and it was borne by a breathtaking man. There was nothing Alec could do but to reciprocate.

The man’s deep brown eyes shifted between his siblings and Hodge before finally settling on Alec as he readjusted the top hat over his head.

Their eyes locked, and it seemed to be enough to bring Alec back to his duties and remember his manners. He cleared his throat, taking a decided step forward.

“Welcome, Mr. Bane,” he said, extending a hand.

“Thank you, Mr. Lightwood,” he replied.

His hand was equally soft and firm as it shook Alec’s, and Alec pointedly refused to focus on the shiver that ran down his spine as he let go, his skin tingling with warmth.

“I hope the journey wasn’t too tumultuous.”

“It was very long and very unpleasant,” Mr. Bane said lightly, never departing himself from his smile. “But that was only because the company was disastrous,” he added, casting a playful glance over his shoulder at Raphael, who sent back a glare - although it seemed to be the expression he sported at all times.

“I’m- sorry to hear that,” Alec said with a confused frown, hesitation pregnant in every word.

Mr. Bane chuckled, gently patting Alec’s shoulder. “I was only teasing, Mr. Lightwood. Thank you for having us. I promise we won’t be of any inconvenience.”

“You can stay for as long as you need,” Alec replied with a polite smile. “The mansion certainly is big enough for all of us.”

Magnus tipped his head in gratitude, his eyes crinkling at the corner with a smile. He turned to face Isabelle, moving to take her hand and press a closed-lipped kiss to its back. “And you must be Miss Lightwood,” he said, his voice smooth as velvet. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Is it true you’re friends with Oscar Wilde?” Isabelle blurted out, forgetting all her manners, eyes wide with elation.

“Izzy!” Alec hissed disapprovingly under his breath.

Mr. Bane chuckled, surprise flashing on his features, and waved dismissively in Alec’s vicinity. “It’s quite alright,” he said. “Friends is one way to put it,” he told her with a playful wink.

Isabelle threw Alec a pointed look, looking all too pleased with herself before her attention focused back on their guest. “I’m a devoted follower of your work, Mr. Bane,” she said. “Your last book was wonderful.”

“You’re too kind,” he replied. “Please, though, call me Magnus. It looks like I might be here for a little while, we can forget the formalities.”

Isabelle looked positively thrilled, and Magnus not embarrassed or bothered in the slightest so Alec trimmed his chastising expression to a small but indulgent scowl as Magnus moved to greet Max and Jace.

He looked tired from the journey, his shoulders slouched a little and his whole demeanor heavy with exhaustion, no matter how he attempted to hide it with cordial smiles and courteous words.

“You must be tired from the journey,” Alec said when Magnus was done introducing himself to Hodge and stepping backwards.

“I could do with some sleep,” Magnus admitted with a nod.

“Meliorn will show you to your quarters,” Alec said, gesturing for Magnus to follow him towards the mansion. “I will give you the tour of the estate tomorrow if you wish.”

“I would love that.” Magnus hummed absently, before flashing Alec another blinding smile.

Alec’s heart tightened in his chest, a pleasant buzz running through his mind, but he forced himself not to focus on it.

.

Magnus blinked his eyes open to unfamiliar surroundings.

Outside, the sky was a dazzling grey, heavy with threatening clouds. He slowly moved out of bed, walking to the window to open it and let the fresh air collide against his face and fully awake him.

The scent of rain hung in the air although it had stopped falling. The mist was thick, and he couldn’t even see beyond the iron gates of the Lightwood estate. He spotted Isabelle in the gardens, adorned in informal clothing that contrasted greatly with the magnificent garnet dress she had worn the day before. Instead she wore a long black skirt and a white shirt that fitted her just as beautifully.

A door opened at his back and Magnus turned away from the window with a start.

“Oh, you’re up! Hello, Sir,” the newcomer exclaimed in surprise, almost dropping the tray he was carrying in the process. “We weren’t sure how long you’d sleep with the long trip you had but your driver told us you were a light sleeper. I brought you breakfast but I can take it back to the dining room if you’d rather have it there. Captain Lightwood is in there too with his brother and you are welcome to join them.”

He spoke fast enough that Magnus was almost worried he would pull a muscle in his excitation.

Magnus blinked. “Captain Lightwood?”

“Alec, Sir!” he exclaimed, balancing his tray on one hand as he moved to open the curtains fully. Magnus kept his qualms of seeing his breakfast scattered on the ground to himself. “I mean, Alexander. The eldest Lightwood. You met him yesterday.”

“I know who you’re talking about.” Magnus chuckled, easing the confusion on the boy’s features. “I just didn’t know he was a captain.”

The boy nodded, thankfully going back to holding his tray with both hands. “Second rifle regiment of the British Army,” he stated simply, before turning back to face Magnus with curious eyes. “Should I leave your breakfast here?”

“I will be down soon. Thank you…” Magnus trailed off, lifting an eyebrow.

“Simon,” he provided in a rush, eyes widening again. “I’m Simon! I work in the kitchens, Sir.”

“I am not a Sir. I thought this would be evident in this country over any other,” Magnus said with an amused quirk of his brow. “You can tell Captain Lightwood and his brother I will be joining them, Simon. Thank you.”

Simon bowed his head in silent acknowledgment and quickly took his leave, his tray dingling with the movement as he shut the door behind him.

When Magnus walked into the dining room a while later, freshly washed and dressed in clean clothes, the eldest Lightwood was sitting at the end of a long table abounding with food, eggs cooked in all its forms, bread-and-butter both thick and thin, bacon rashers filling the air with a delicious, streaky scent. His hair was the same mess it had been the day before, as if he had given up on taming it altogether, in that careless way people who had bigger issues to take care of often would. Somehow, Magnus thought it suited him. It softened the sternness of his features, gave to his soldier composure an almost innocent poise that was only accentuated by his wide, hazel eyes that tingled with both fondness and exasperation as they settled on his little brother, no matter how hard he pretended to focus on the newspaper in his hands.

Maxwell was sitting by his side, his own hair tastefully combed to the side, leaning over the table to catch his brother’s eyes.

“The answer is no, Max,” the eldest said, in a tone that suggested it wasn’t the first time.

“But Alec,” Max all but whined, dragging the vowel out in despair. “Please.”

“No,” he replied, holding his paper higher to hide his amused face from his brother.

From where he was standing at the threshold, Magnus could witness it perfectly.

“But Hodge is so boring,” Max complained. “All he talks about is the Queen. One could think he is enamored.”

Magnus snorted quietly, unwilling to disturb a family moment, but both of the Lightwoods’ heads whipped to the side to look at him at once.

Alec straightened on his seat, lowering his newspaper as he cleared his throat. “Mr. Bane!” he exclaimed, his British accent rolling on his tongue even for something as simple as uttering a name. “Good morning. How are you feeling?”

Magnus walked in with a smile, and Alec silently motioned at the empty seat at his side.

“Rested,” Magnus replied as he sat down. “Thank you again for the hospitality. The room is splendid. As is the mansion.”

Alec gave him a polite smile. “I’m afraid I can’t take any praise for that,” he admitted graciously. He dipped his lips in a fuming tea cup before he glanced back up at Magnus. “Father said in his letter that you are an acquaintance of Ragnor Fell.”

There was a question in his voice, although it was uttered like a statement. Magnus hummed, thanking Simon with a nod as he waltzed in and filled the empty cup in front of him. “I’m more than an acquaintance,” he said, helping himself to the bread. “Ragnor adopted me when my mother passed away when I was a boy. Saved me from the orphanage.”

He must have noticed something in Magnus’ eyes that told him not to inquire any further, for Alec didn't question him. “That sounds like the Ragnor Fell my father always talks about,” Alec said. “They’ve been friends since University but I have only had the chance to meet him a handful of times.”

“That is more than enough,” Magnus replied, a mischievous smirk tugging the corner of his mouth upward. “He is incredibly bad-tempered and ill-mannered. On his good days.”

Alec let out a quiet laugh that seemed to surprise himself as well as Max, who blinked at Magnus. “Mr. Bane, can I give you the tour of the estate?”

“No, you can’t,” Alec answered before Magnus had a chance to, sending his little brother an exasperated look. “You have a lesson with Hodge, and you should be there already. You don’t want to be late.”

“I’ll tell him I was being a good host and offering our guest the consideration that is suitable for a man of his position.”

Alec rolled his eyes. “Go,” he said, deadpan, his face a mask of gravity. “Now.”

Max huffed and pushed his chair away from the table, walking away, grunting under his breath.

“You must forgive him, Mr. Bane,” Alec said, after making sure Max was indeed heading in the right direction. “We don’t have guests every day and when we do, they rarely come all the way from the Americas. He has many questions for you.”

Magnus smiled, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “I’ll be happy to answer them all,” he responded. “Now, even in my state of fatigue, I do recall asking you all to call me Magnus yesterday. That was meant for you too, Captain Lightwood.”

“A-Alec,” he stuttered, a flush coloring his cheekbones. “You can call me Alec.”

“Then, shall we, Alec?” Magnus asked, putting his napkin back on the table. “I will just change into more suitable clothes and you can show me around.”

“Oh,” Alec said, his cheeks still adorned in a lovely shade of pink. He stood up, grabbing the cane he had left hanging from the back of his chair. “You won’t be needing formal clothing. In fact, I wouldn’t advise it. What you are wearing now is good. Fine. It’s… opportune.”

Magnus looked down at the loose white shirt he was wearing, simple and as mundane as they came, and shrugged. “Very well. I will put my faith in the master of this estate’s words.”

“I’m not the master,” Alec retorted as he guided Magnus out of the dining room, towards the opposite way he had come down a while back. “I’m just in charge while our parents are away for business. We’ll start with the outside.”

They stepped onto a large terrace, surrounded with vegetation. Magnus instantly recognized the butler, Meliorn, who was working on a bush of vibrant purple flowers. The man nodded in greeting, before focusing back on the task at hand.

“I understood from Ragnor that your father is a prolific art trader,” Magnus said conversationally.

In the middle of the terrace stood a delicate marble fountain, the soft gurgling of the clear water almost inaudible beneath the sound of the chilly autumn wind and its resounding melody.

“Both my parents, actually,” Alec corrected. “Mother is the most knowledgeable one when it comes to art, but women of her rank are not supposed to work, so…”

“So your father takes the credit for her work,” Magnus finished, and surprise flashed in Alec’s eyes, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

They walked down the stairs and Magnus swiftly turned around to get a proper look at the mansion from where he stood.

Ivy and ferns grew through the crevices of the old stone, mapping a beautiful pattern on the imposing structure. It somehow managed to soften the ostentatious impression the mansion could give at first glance. It was a thing of beauty.

“Not in private,” Alec said.

“We are at the dawn of the twentieth century and people still fool themselves into believing women should crawl and kneel or be branded radicals,” Magnus said absently.

His eyes were too focused on the majestic pond that laid amidst the gardens to see the smile on Alec’s face, although he heard it clearly in his voice.

“Are you a radical, Mr. Bane?”

Magnus stopped in his tracks, and Alec along with him. He faced him, and Alec’s hazel eyes were already on him when he met them, impassive but for the curious spark that made them shine a little brighter.

“For some people, certainly,” Magnus replied truthfully. “I consider myself a humanist, if we ought to put a word on it.”

Alec hummed pensively and resumed walking, leading them to the gardens that bordered the pond. At this time of the year, it didn’t exult with vibrant colors or emit the soothing perfume of flowers, but Magnus could easily imagine it in the peak of spring, budding and blossoming.

“So you don’t believe in God?” Alec asked, fingers trailing over the petals of a faded rose.

There was something almost moving about his bluntness, Magnus pondered to himself, perhaps because it came from a place of genuine interest instead of either judgement or fatalism.

“I believe in this world, and in the souls that fill it,” Magnus clarified. “It has always been enough for me.”

Again, Alec didn’t reply immediately, nor did he display any indication on whether he agreed with Magnus or not.

Magnus chose to answer to bluntness with bluntness. “What about you?”

“We’re Catholics,” he eluded.

“I asked about you, Alec,” Magnus retorted. “Not the Lightwoods. Not your parents. You.”

Alec seemed to hesitate, and for a moment, Magnus thought he wouldn’t answer, afraid that the mist around them would carry his words beyond the quiet peace they had found there. However, it seemed that he would have to get accustomed to the idea of Alexander Lightwood surprising him.

“I believe in everything but God,” the man confessed, almost brutally.

There was something mesmerizing about him, about the way he seemed to divulge parts of himself in a rush, as if getting rid of them so he could go back to holding the impenetrable fortress that surrounded him; and Magnus couldn’t help but wonder what exactly it was meant to protect, what dark and unspeakable secret he kept so carefully concealed from the world.

“I still go to church every Sunday,” Alec continued. “It’s less trouble than having to explain it if I don’t.”

“It sounds unbearably boring,” Magnus commented light-heartedly.

Alec shrugged, and there was something cynical about it, something discouraged. Magnus didn’t know how to respond to that, so he did not. A comfortable silence settled between them as they wandered between the perfectly maintained alleys of bushes. On the other side of the pond laid a vegetable garden surrounded by apple trees.

Leaning on his cane, Alec led them away from the path and stretched his long limbs to pick an apple, throwing it to Magnus with a bashful smile before he went to pluck one for himself.

He bit on it once, juice dripping down his chin, and an embarrassed blush prickled on his cheeks. “Sorry,” he mumbled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “We’ve only just met but it feels longer than that. I forgot my manners.”

Magnus gnawed at his own apple, chuckling. “I won’t tell if you don’t,” he quipped with a wink, tongue darting out to taste the juice trickling down his lower lip.

For an irrational moment, Magnus was sure he saw Alec’s gaze drift down to his mouth and stay there for a second too long, but then Alec was clearing his throat and glancing away, guiding them back on the path.

They visited the stables next, and found Jace there, brushing the back of the horse Magnus had bought when he and Raphael had arrived in England three days before.

A light smirk upturned Alec’s lips as he lifted an eyebrow at Jace. “You know we pay someone very honestly to do that, don’t you?”

“Clary is busy with Idris so I offered to do it,” Jace said, in a contrite voice, a testimony to how hard he was trying to sound convincing.

“And you did it out of the goodness of your heart, I’m sure,” Alec retorted, voice heavy with sarcasm.

It was a side of him Magnus hadn’t seen yet. He seemed at ease then, as if he found a sort of peace in this brotherly banter. His whole demeanor had unwinded, and Magnus wondered if it was his presence that had made him so strained, or if it was his natural composure.

“Of course,” Jace replied in a heartbeat.

“Because you are _so_ selfless,” Alec appended, in a tone that suggested the opposite.

Jace glared at his brother. “You hurt me, Alec,” he exclaimed somewhat dramatically. “Doubting my benevolence in front of our guest.”

“From what I heard, it rather sounded like he was praising it,” Magnus said in staged candor.

Alec chuckled behind his hand, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and Magnus felt it was contagious, for he couldn’t help but to titter himself when Jace turned his glare to him.

Magnus smirked and took a step forward. “Rest assured I have no doubt of your benevolence, Jonathan,” Magnus said playfully, stroking the horse’s neck gently. “This beauty is glowing.”

“Ah!” Jace exclaimed with a conceited lift of his brow to his brother.

Alec rolled his eyes, but he was smiling when he turned to Magnus. “Shall we continue? There’s still a lot to see.”

Magnus nodded. “Lead the way, Alec.”

Next was the greenhouse but they didn't stay long, although Magnus had a feeling he could have stayed there forever, but little Max was in the middle of a lesson with his tutor and he was too easily distracted for them to linger there any longer than strictly necessary.

It was on their way out of the greenhouse, as they were walking up the stairs to get back to the mansion, where there was indeed still a lot for Magnus to discover that he noticed that Alec was cringing, each step seemingly an ordeal of its own.

“Is everything alright?” Magnus asked with a frown.

Alec nodded, but the grimace of pain on his handsome features spoke differently.

Magnus gave him a pointed look but Alec ignored it, his brows pulling down stubbornly.

“Let’s go,” he said. “I think you'll like the study.”

He was limping a little now, and Magnus realized with a start that Alec’s cane was not there for fashionable purposes the way it would have for himself. He wondered how he hadn't noticed before. Alec hadn't struck him as a man who cared much for fashion or following the latest trends.

“Is it your leg?” he blurted out before he could stop himself.

Alec stilled, his fingers twitching over the top of his cane. “I'm alright,” he replied, too eagerly to be remotely believable. “Come on.”

Magnus opened his mouth to protest, but closed it at once. Somehow, he knew arguing with Alec would be pointless. His shoulders were tight with tension again, and his brows tugged in a stubborn frown.

“You know, I am pretty tired myself,” Magnus exclaimed, with an innocent smile that he knew didn't manage to fool his companion. “I think I should rest for a little while. Right here,” he added, promptly dropping on the steps of stone.

“Magnus,” Alec drawled, and there was an exasperated edge to his tone, but it sounded almost fond, much like it had earlier in the stables when he was teasing his brother. “I am fine.”

“Of course you are,” Magnus replied. “But you wouldn't want to forget your manners twice in the same morning and leave your guest all alone, would you now?”

Alec scoffed out a quiet laugh but obliged, sitting down at his side. “I wouldn't dream of it,” he chuckled. “I am a gentleman.”

He stretched his legs, his face contorting in a mask of pain.

“Exactly,” Magnus quipped.

The wind was brisk, and Magnus shivered a little, but it was a pleasant cold, the trees of the alley swaying gently, bathing the scenery in a quiet sense of peace that he had never found in New York, not for a long while anyway.

Alec didn’t try to break the silence - but Magnus hadn’t expected him to do so. He was a man of few words; perhaps this was why he made the ones he did utter matter and be the witness of his blatant honesty.

He was massaging his leg gently, his thumb digging in his calf every now and then, although he did it in a discrete way, as if not to cause Magnus any worry. It was an odd feeling, considering how little they knew of each other and for how little time, but Magnus worried nonetheless.

“War wound?” he asked softly.

Alec hummed absently, rubbing nervously at his knee. “I was on the front in Egypt.”

That was all the explanation he gave, but it was enough, and Magnus didn’t pry further into it.

“You know you shouldn’t walk for too long,” a reprimanding voice chastised from behind them.

Magnus turned around to find Isabelle standing there, a frown marking her beautiful features, hands on her hips.

“I’m fine,” Alec grunted, but it did nothing to soothe the concern on his sister’s face.

“When is Luke’s next visit?” Isabelle inquired.

“Next Sunday,” Alec replied. He rose to his feet, and Magnus had an inkling that it was only to prove a point, to alleviate the obnoxious worry he was granted with. His jaw flexed with the movement, but he did a good job of concealing it, and gave his sister a small smile. “No need to worry, Izzy.”

She huffed in disbelief, but seemed to acknowledge her brother’s resolve for what it was and dropped the subject all together. “Lunch will be served soon,” she announced, and set her eyes on Magnus. “I hope you like cottage pie.”

“I can’t say I’ve ever had it,” Magnus said with a smile, standing up to face her, “but if I am to stay here for a while, I suppose I should get used to the British gastronomy as quickly as possible.”

“You will love it,” Isabelle replied, hooking her arm with his as she guided him inside. “Come on, I want to hear everything about your next book and how scandalous it is going to be.”

Magnus laughed wholeheartedly and darted a look over his shoulder at Alec, who offered him an apologetic smile on his sister’s behalf. Magnus winked, revelling in the blush it sent to the captain’s cheeks.

He wondered if there was more to it than the eye could tell.

.

The study had always been Alec’s favorite room in the mansion.

It was comfortable and intimate, away from the animation of the day, and quiet. The bay-window gave directly on the gardens rather than the alley, on both sides of which hung heavy curtains that shut the alcove it created entirely when he seeked seclusion from the rest of the world. In the winter, he favored the mantel and fireplace of Sienna marble on the opposite corner, where his reading was lulled by the crackling of the fire and no other noise than the turning of the pages. The bookcases lining against the walls were as filled as Alec’s favorite bookshop down on Piccadilly Circus.

He had already loved it as a child, when the mansion had seemed gargantuesque in its size and he had found a refuge in the familiarity of books and in the consciousness that there were such things for him to escape in when the need arose.

It had been a while since anyone other than him had wandered into these walls. It was common knowledge among his family that this room was his safe haven, a place to read and think and dream, or all three concurringly. His siblings had always called it ‘ _Alec’s study_ ’.

Perhaps it was why he was so surprised when he found Magnus there on the first afternoon of October.

He was sitting in the leather armchair Alec particularly favored by the window, a book on his lap and a cup of tea at his side. The afternoon sun poured through, enveloping him in natural light, catching in the beautiful bronze of his skin and on the golden embroideries of his waistcoat.

For a moment, Alec considered leaving before Magnus could realize his presence, but something stopped him from turning away. Five days had already passed - Alec had hardly realized, too busy running a mansion and the local business while his parents were away - since Magnus had arrived and they had barely talked since he had given him the tour of the estate.

He had liked their conversation, however. There was something intriguing if not fascinating about Magnus and how unapologetic he seemed to be about his opinions and beliefs - or lack of. Yet, he expressed them in a way that was never judgmental, or demeaning of others. Alec had always found a certain nobility in people who dared to go against the tides, against the rules and norms of their society and yet remained respectful of the ones who had not found their way out of the latent conformism that was asked of them - whether it was because they did not want to or simply could not.

He had thought about it several times since their chat, thankful that it had happened away from prying ears, and he had to admit, at least to himself, that he had longed to talk to Magnus again, to see if every conversation with him would prove to be a challenge or if it had only been the affair of once.

There was only one way to find out.

Alec cleared his throat, and even in his surprise, there was a grace to Magnus’ movements as he glanced up to see who had disrupted his reading.

His face broke into a smile. “Alexander,” he exclaimed. “Good afternoon.”

Alec didn’t know if it was his accent, a mixture of American and something else he couldn’t quite decipher, but there was something peculiar about the way Magnus uttered his full name that made warmth squirm in the pit of Alec’s stomach.

“And to you,” Alec replied as he fully walked in, shutting the door behind him. “I see you found the study.”

“And I love it just as much as you promised I would,” Magnus answered, gesturing vaguely to his current position. “I meant to ask but I couldn’t find you or Isabelle anywhere. I hope it’s no bother, because I can leave if -”

Alec shook his head promptly. “You’re our guest,” he said.

“Still, I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re not,” Alec told him as convincingly as he could. “In fact, would you mind terribly if I joined you?”

Magnus’ eyes glimmered for a second. “I think I would rather enjoy that,” he said.

Alec smiled somewhat bashfully and grabbed the armchair that rested in front of the fireplace, placing it in front of Magnus’ before dropping on it with as much grace as he could summon.

“What are you reading?” he asked.

Magnus glanced down at the book on his lap, holding it up for Alec to read the cover.

“William Wordsworth?” Alec read out loud, and quirked an eyebrow. “Forgive me, I didn’t peg you for a romantic.”

“I’m not,” Magnus replied, “and I am. I don’t think I can be tied to one particular style. I like beauty, and it can be found in all things.”

When Alec didn’t answer, Magnus leaned backwards in his chair, although his eyes never wavered away.

“ _What though the radiance which was once so bright be now for ever taken from my sight, though nothing can bring back the hour of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower; we will grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind in the primal sympathy which having been must ever be_ ,” he recited, and Alec had read those same words a thousand times over, but somehow they had a new meaning in Magnus’ mouth. They had a substance. “I like the beauty of his words,” he concluded.

Alec found himself nodding scarcely. He inhaled deeply, for he had forgotten to breathe for a moment. “He is quite skilled,” he said, his voice somewhat hoarse.

“You know Wordsworth?” Magnus exclaimed, his eyes shining at once.

“ _For oft, when on my couch I lie_ ,” Alec declaimed, the words slipping easily on his tongue, “ _in vacant or in pensive mood, they flash upon that inward eye which is the bliss of solitude; and then my heart with pleasure fills, and dances with the daffodils._ ”

Alec was certain the delight in Magnus’ gaze was not a fruit of his imagination.

“I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud,” Magnus said softly, taking a sip of his tea. “Nice one.”

“I'm afraid I haven't read any of your works,” Alec admitted with an apologetic smile, “but Izzy swears by it.”

“She's too kind,” Magnus said. “I would gladly take the compliment but I fear I haven't written anything worth the praise in far too long.”

His fingers moved in a dismissive flourish and Alec found himself drawn to the movement. Magnus wore many rings, the silver catching in the light pouring through the window. There was a blank space on his left hand, although it still bore the faded mark of a ring.

“I'm sure it will come back to you.”

Magnus hummed absently, eyes drifting to the gardens spreading outside.

Alec leaned forward, twisting his fingers together. “Can I ask you something?”

Magnus’ brown eyes were back on him in a second. Alec hadn't noticed the golden flicker in them before. “Of course.”

“Why did you come to London?” he inquired.

Magnus kept silent for a while, and Alec didn’t dare to pry further. He seemed deep in thought, as if he was pondering on an explanation that would be suitable for Alec to hear.

“I couldn’t write anymore,” he admitted eventually. “Inspiration had deserted me, and there was nothing left for me in New York. London seems to be the home of the greatest writers of our age, and Ragnor has been singing the praises of his dear Albion for as long as I have known him. I thought it was worth a try.”

“I hope you find your muse again, then,” Alec said.

Magnus gave him a smile. It wasn’t one of his blinding ones that Alec had witnessed before. This one was small, tainted with a sense of fatalism he didn’t dare to question. Somehow, it felt more intimate than everything Magnus had offered him up to that point.

“I thought I had lost it,” he said, his voice barely over a murmur, “but it was never truly there.”

The self-depreciation in his tone was mirrored in his eyes and Alec made a mental note to borrow one of Magnus’ books from Isabelle. Something was telling him the dejection in Magnus’ eyes was a pure fabrication of the writer’s mind.

“Anyway.” Magnus blinked, seemingly drawn back to their world. “Fancy a game of chess?” His fingers danced towards the chessboard on the other side of the room.

Alec had almost forgotten its existence entirely. He often played with his father in the summer, but they favored the other chessboard on the terrace, and this one hadn’t been used for so long the pieces would have been covered in dust if it weren’t for the housekeeper.

“I haven’t played in a while,” Alec said, rising to his feet.

Magnus’ smirk was all kinds of devilish, but it took nothing away from his natural charisma. “Then I guess it will make my victory even easier.”

Alec curved an eyebrow, his eyes setting on Magnus, taking in the challenge in his gaze and reciprocating with his own.

“We’ll see about that, Mr. Bane.”

Magnus chuckled and took a seat in front of the black pawns. “I’ll give you the first move, Captain Lightwood,” he replied, his eyes glimmering with a playful spark. “Make good use of it.”

Conversation flowed easily as they played. They talked of strategies, books, poetry, the differences Magnus had witnessed between London and New York in the little time he had been there, and Alec found himself entranced by the game as much as he was by Magnus’ words. There were his eyes, too.

People often talked of the color of one’s eyes as if it held some kind of importance but Alec was certain those eyes would be beautiful in any shade. Perhaps it had everything to do with how they narrowed and tingled as he contemplated his next move. Perhaps it was because of the kindness that transpired from them. Whatever it was, Alec caught himself staring more times than should be considered suitable, and glancing away as soon as he realized he was.

And as he found himself allured again, and again, and again, a slow, creeping sense of dismay dawned on him, his stomach twisting painfully.

All it took was for Magnus to look up and meet his gaze for it to vanish completely.

It was like his soul shone through his eyes, and Alec didn’t think he had ever seen one more beautiful.

.

On the Sunday that marked the end of his first week in the Lightwood estate, Magnus walked into an empty dining room for the first time since his arrival.

The table was set, the food was served but none of the Lightwood siblings were anywhere to be found, and the mansion was oddly quiet, far more than it was on any normal day.

He and Alec had played chess again the night before, and they had gone to bed fairly late even by Magnus’ standards but in the week he had spent there he had learned to know that Alec was always the first to rise and the last to lay for the night, so it was unlikely that he was still in bed.

Most days, Magnus had had his breakfast with the youngest Lightwood, answering to all his questions about everything that came to Max’s mind before he had to leave for his lesson with Hodge. He always left begrudgingly, although it contradicted the great verve that animated him when he told Magnus about what he had learned in the evening while they had dinner or the following morning.

There was no great tale of Alexander the Great or intriguing fact about some rare animal species to greet Magnus that morning, and he took his habitual seat in silence, wondering how it was possible for him to miss something he had only experienced for such a short amount of time.

The door opened with a creak and Magnus jumped on his seat, startled, as Simon walked in, his glasses askew on his nose.

“Good morning, Mr. Bane,” he exclaimed. “Will it be tea or coffee today?”

“Tea, please, Simon,” Magnus said. “Where is everyone?”

“Church,” Simon replied automatically. “They left early today, you just missed them. Meliorn can have a carriage ready for you if you want to join them.”

Magnus smirked, lifting his fuming cup to his lips. “Thank you, but I’ll pass,” he said. “The Almighty and I have a complicated relationship. Do you not go to church?”

Simon shook his head. “I’m Jewish.” He gestured vaguely - and somewhat clumsily - to the empty chair in front of Magnus. “Do you mind if I join you?”

“Of course not.”

Simon dropped in the chair, beaming, and Magnus almost regretted offering when he started talking far too rapidly for his taste. It got more bearable after his second cup of tea, and soon Magnus found himself enjoying Simon’s presence, laughing at his jokes - if it sometimes were at his expense, Simon did not need to know.

They were interrupted a while later by the familiar sound of hooves coming from outside and Magnus followed Simon as he hurried to the iron gates. Meliorn was already there, opening them for the newcomer.

Magnus had expected the Lightwoods, but the man who stepped down the carriage was one he had never met before. He had dark skin, dark laughing eyes, and an infectious smile. His three-piece gray suit was elegant but discrete, showing the quality of his rank without being ostentatious.

“Dr. Garroway!” Simon exclaimed excitedly as he bolted down the remaining steps to shake the man’s hand.

He laughed, the sound warm and pleasant in the chill October day. “Hello, Simon,” he said.

Magnus stayed where he was as they exchanged pleasantries but it wasn’t long before Simon ushered the stranger towards Magnus with a wide smile. His eyes were shining behind his glasses.

“Mr. Bane, this is Dr. Lucian Garroway,” he explained as Magnus reached out to shake the man’s hand. “He’s the family doctor.”

“Call me Luke,” the man said. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Likewise,” Magnus said with a polite smile. “I’m Magnus Bane. I’m a guest of the Lightwoods.”

“Oh, I’ve heard,” Luke replied, humor shining his dark eyes. “Isabelle was very eager to meet you.”

“I hope I did not disappoint,” Magnus offered.

Luke smiled again, but didn’t reply, turning to Simon instead. “Where is Alec?”

“They’re not back from church yet,” he said. “They should be back soon, though. They never dawdle when Mr. and Mrs. Lightwood aren’t here.”

As if on cue, another carriage emerged from the mist at the end of the alley. Thrill squirmed in the pit of Magnus’ stomach, but he refused to ponder on the reason why. Not even when Alec hopped down the carriage after his brothers and Raphael and his face lightened up at the sight of Magnus, a lopsided grin breaking his usual sternness. It only lasted a second before he schooled his features again, but it was enough for Magnus’ breath to hitch in his throat.

Alec turned around, offering his hand out for Isabelle, who took it with a grateful smile and leaped down with a grace that shouldn’t have been possible when wearing such a dress.

Magnus expected Alec to close the door of the carriage after that but he stayed there, holding a hand out for someone else.

The woman who stepped down after Isabelle was beautiful in a way that was completely different from Isabelle. Her blond hair was tugged in a strict bun, clearing her face so there was no distraction from her pale skin and deep blue eyes. She gave Alec a small, private smile that he returned, although his seemed polite more than it was truthful.

“How was church?” Magnus asked as Isabelle and Max joined him on the stairs.

“Boring,” Max mumbled.

Isabelle looked like she was about to chastise him but thought better of it because she shrugged, tipping her head in agreement.

Magnus chuckled, and leaned closer to Isabelle to whisper, tilting his head towards the blonde woman. “Who is that?”

“That’s Lydia. Lydia Branwell,” Isabelle said. Magnus lifted a confused eyebrow, and Isabelle’s brows pulled into a frown. “Didn’t Alec tell you about her?”

Magnus scampered through the memories of their conversation throughout the week, but he couldn’t recall Alec ever mentioning the name.

“I don’t believe he did.”

Isabelle pursed her lips, casting a look towards her older brother that Magnus couldn’t quite decipher.

“Alec, Lydia,” she called out, with a sweet smile that didn’t appear as innocent as it was meant to be. They both turned away from Luke to look at them. She motioned for them to come closer and Magnus refrained from frowning as they did, intrigued.

Isabelle rested a hand on her brother’s forearm. “I don’t think Magnus and Lydia have met,” she said, in a courteous tone that contrasted with her usual informal attitude towards him.

“Oh.” Alec blinked, and turned to Lydia with a sheepish smile. “Lydia, this is Magnus Bane,” he told her. “He’s the guest I told you about. Magnus is a writer, from New York.”

“I remember,” she said. Her voice was soft and her eyes gentle as they settled on Magnus. “I’ve heard a lot about you. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Bane.”

There was a hint of hesitation in Alec’s voice when he spoke next. “Magnus, this is Lydia Branwell,” he said as Magnus reached out to shake the hand she was holding out to him. “Our parents are business partners.”

Lydia laughed sweetly, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Is that all I am, dear?”

Alec cleared his throat, sending her a contrite smile. “Lydia is also my fiancée,” he said while turning to face Magnus again.

Magnus tried not to let the surprise show on his features. He would have thought that something like Alec being engaged would have been mentioned some time during their late nights in the study, when it was just the two of them, a game of chess and a glass of whiskey when Alec let himself indulge in the habit.

“Alec tells me you’re a writer,” Lydia said somewhat awkwardly when the silence seemed to stretch for too long.

“I like to pretend I am,” Magnus retorted, not unkindly.

Luke walked up to them, resting a firm hand on Alec’s shoulder. “Time for your bi-monthly check-up, young man,” he said, in an almost paternal voice that fitted the benevolent smile on his lips. “You better not have been riding again or I will know.”

Alec nodded, casting a quick look to Lydia - his fiancée.

“Go,” she said, ushering him away playfully. “I will have this gentleman escort me to the dining room,” she added, pointing at Magnus. “If you will, of course.”

Magnus offered her his arm, smiling. “It would be an honor, Miss Branwell.”

.

Alec buttoned up his pants, flexing his shoulders.

“I told you I was okay,” he mumbled. “I walked a bit more than I should have on Monday but otherwise I’ve been careful and I’ve followed your instructions.”

Luke scoffed, pulling his medical instruments back in his briefcase. “Finally.”

Alec huffed out a quiet snort. “You’re never going to forgive me for that one time, are you?”

“You reopened your wound, Alec,” Luke deadpanned, throwing him a pointed glance. “God knows you are the responsible one in this family while your parents are away. You should know better.”

“I know,” Alec sighed. “It was the beginning and I was restless. I’m better now.”

Luke nodded once and followed Alec outside as they walked down the corridor that led to the staircase. “So, how is the infamous Magnus Bane? Does he live up to your sister’s expectations?”

“I believe he exceeded them,” Alec answered, unable to help the fond smile that took over his lips. “He is… quite unique.”

He couldn’t think of a better word to describe Magnus, at least not one who wouldn’t raise suspicions and incriminate him in any way. If his slight hesitation gave away anything, Luke didn’t let it show on his eternally magnanimous features.

“In what way?” Luke asked.

Alec took a sharp breath as his gaze settled on Magnus at the bottom of the stairs. He was conversing with Raphael, oblivious to Alec’s eyes watching his every move, the corner of his eyes crinkling with an easy smile. Raphael wasn’t smiling back - it wasn’t surprising, considering how little Alec had seen him do so in the week they had been there - but it was clear he was listening to Magnus intently.

“Are you familiar with Oscar Wilde’s work?” Alec asked quietly, drifting his eyes back to Luke with some difficulty.

Luke nodded.

“There’s this quote in one of them. You must forgive me, I don’t remember which one exactly,” Alec continued. “‘ _Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth_.’”

His eyes were back on Magnus, and Alec wondered when it had happened, if they had become so accustomed to his presence already that they sought him in a room without Alec even thinking about it.

“I fear that’s true,” he said, and paused.

He thought of their first conversation, on the day Alec had taken Magnus on the tour of the estate, and it had flowed easily like it seemed to between them. He couldn’t remember ever trusting someone as quickly and as effortlessly as he did Magnus.

Magnus was unapologetic and unabashed in his opinions and ideas, but never closed up to the ones that diverged from his own.

“But somehow, it doesn’t apply to him,” Alec concluded, awkwardly clearing his throat as he glanced back at Luke, before striding down the steps.

A smirk tugged at the corner of Luke’s lips as he followed. “He seems quite unique indeed,” he commented, and there was something light in his tone, something almost playful that made Alec heave out a shaky breath.

Before he could reply, Magnus and Raphael were turning to face them, and Alec fell silent.

“Gentlemen,” Luke said with a nod.

Alec’s eyes found Magnus’ as Luke and Raphael introduced themselves to each other. Confusion was swirling in his gaze amidst the deep-rooted kindness that he bore at all times and the appeal for a challenge - a game of chess seemed an easy ordeal compared to this one.

“Will you be joining us for lunch?” Alec asked, refusing to look away.

Magnus held up the brown-leathered journal in his hand with a smile. “I’m afraid I let Simon distract me from eating my breakfast at a proper hour this morning and I am not hungry,” he said. “I was planning on going for a stroll in the woods behind the estate and see if I can find inspiration over there.”

“Oh.” Alec’s brows dipped into a frown. “Will you be alright?”

Magnus flashed him another of his blinding smiles, but this one didn’t reach his eyes. “Worry not, Alexander. New York is a jungle of its own, I think I’ll be fine.”

“If you’re sure,” Alec muttered, ducking his head.

Magnus walked away without another word, and Alec watched him go with pursed lips, entranced once more by the grace and sensuality - he dared think it in the secrecy of his own mind - that vibrated through his body as he moved, almost like he was dancing.

.

Alec had spent the afternoon in the gardens, playing croquet with Isabelle and Lydia, while keeping an eye on Max and commenting the latest news with Luke and Jace. He had stumbled in the kitchen at some point in the afternoon, only to back away slowly when he had walked into Raphael trying to teach Simon how to bake something he couldn’t quite recognize and snapping at him, the two of them arguing in Spanish.

He had grabbed the teapot Simon had prepared and taken it outside without asking for an explanation.

Then, he had retreated to the study to finish the book Isabelle had lent him and had let himself be submerged by Magnus’ words and the world he had built with them to the point where he had lost track of time. He hadn’t looked up until he had finished it and Max had come to fetch him, announcing that dinner was to be served soon.

It was already night-time when Alec walked into the dining room, drained of all energy. It all vanished as soon as he noticed the empty seat in the middle of the table.

“Where is Magnus?” he asked, trying to keep the concern away from his tone.

He longed to see him, if only to tell how he had been transfixed by his words and that Magnus had been wrong by claiming it was nothing worth the praise. If he seeked beauty in the world, Alec wanted to be the one to tell him he had already found it, and that it was transparent in everything he wrote, in the passion behind each sentence, in the unique gift he possessed without being aware of it. He wanted to share with him how it had shaken him to his core, sent chills to his spine and sometimes a wetness to his eyes he had kept away.

He wanted to tell him how he had related to the rawness of Magnus’ writing, and how it had moved him in way very few things could and had before.

But Magnus wasn’t there.

Isabelle frowned, drifting her attention away from Lydia to level him with a worried look. “I thought he was with you in the study.”

Alec shook his head. “I haven’t seen him since he told us he was going for a stroll in the woods.”

His statement was met with silence, confused glances being shared left and right.

Alec heaved out an exasperated breath, concern swirling in his stomach. “Has anyone seen him at all this afternoon?”

Jace rose to his feet rapidly. “Let’s go,” he said, but Alec was already out of the door.

It was a good thing Luke had left before dinner, because he definitely wouldn’t have approved of Alec running to the stables and barely taking the time to throw a saddle over Idris before climbing him. He grabbed the cape and the oil lamp Isabelle was holding out for him, the soft light making the worry in her eyes almost pregnant, and took off without another word.

Jace was by his side in a heartbeat. “I’ll take the East side,” Alec told him. “You take the West.”

Jace nodded, gently tapping the heels of his boots against his horse’s flank. He disappeared into the night, calling out Magnus’ name, and Alec headed to the other side.

Magnus was not the first one to wander in these woods and get lost. Alec himself had underestimated the utter darkness that surrounded you once the sun set at night. Not even the moonlight could prevent the blackness, its silvery rays unable to reach below the dense canopy above. If Magnus had gone away from the narrow path and wandered further into the nature, he would have been surprised by the night, and there was no way for him to find his way back then, his sight robbed from him.

Once deep into the woods, Alec slowed Idris down to a walk, perking up on his back to make sure his ears were as open as they could to any little sound.

“Magnus?” he called.

The wind swinged through the trees around him, and the light flicked in the oil lamp in his hand. And silence enveloped him again.

With a sigh, Alec guided Idris deeper into the darkness, calling Magnus’ name again, and again, until he finally heard a voice calling back.

His senses heightened at once and Alec stopped the horse, holding his breath as he listened, unsure his mind wasn’t playing a trick on him to fool him into a sense of achievement.

“Alexander?”

Alec heaved out a sigh, relief pouring through him in waves.

“Magnus,” he shouted. “Can you see me?”

“Yes,” Magnus called back. “Don’t move, I’m coming to you.”

There was a shuffle coming from his right and Alec waited quietly as the noise grew closer until Magnus was standing there, looking as disheveled as Alec had ever seen him. His hair was tousled, his clothes rumpled and probably dirty, although he couldn’t distinguish much in the darkness.

There were a few leaves in his hair and Alec didn’t know if it was because there was no one around them to witness his moment of folly but he reached out to pluck them out, feeling the silk strands between his fingers.

“You worried us,” he muttered, pulling his hand back hastily, grateful for the darkness that concealed his flushed cheeks.

Magnus blinked at him, lips parted in surprise.

“I… got lost,” he breathed out. The dim light of the oil lamp reflected against his face, casting shadows on his skin, and yet his eyes were shining.

He cleared his throat, gaze finding Alec’s. “I thought you were not supposed to ride a horse with your leg.”

Alec scoffed, somewhat fondly. “I thought New York was a jungle and you’d be fine,” he retorted. He was overwhelmed with relief, his heart hammering in his chest, and shrugging it off with playfulness seemed like the safest way to go.

Magnus threw him a glare, but it didn’t look half as threatening as he was surely aiming for.

He sighed, darting his eyes away. “I didn’t expect the night to fall that quickly,” he mumbled sheepishly. “I was taken by surprise.”

“I should have warned you,” Alec said, his voice barely over a whisper. In the quiet of the night, he had no doubt Magnus had heard him. Bracing himself with a deep breath, Alec held a hand down. “Come on, you must be freezing.”

Magnus darted a look at his outstretched fingers, and then up at Alec still sitting on his horse, before carefully placing his hand into his own, letting himself be hoisted onto Idris’ back.

He was shivering with cold, his whole body trembling as Alec tugged his arms around him to grab the horse’s reins.

“You’re shivering,” Alec murmured, wrapping the cape over the two of them.

Magnus grabbed the edges, pulling it tighter over their bodies.

Alec didn’t rush the horse to get back to the mansion. There was a part of him that didn’t want to go back at all. He hadn’t expected to ever be this close to Magnus, to feel his back against his chest, to be able to pick up on the steady beatings of his heart and feel them echo in his own body.

Those were dangerous thoughts he was having, he knew. Thoughts he had had before and paid a heavy price for it. He had almost always succeeded in keeping them at bay, but they had never threatened to consume him with as much vigor as they did now.

Even in his younger years, before the war, before his injury, before his innocence had been ripped away from him and he had seen how easily death could be stirred and awake when called upon, and how vile and ruthless humanity could be, he didn’t recall his heart ever rummaging and pounding against his ribcage the way it did now for the sole reason of the contiguity of his body with Magnus’.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered against Magnus’ ear.

Magnus stiffened against his chest, his breath hitching in his throat. “Mmh?”

“About Lydia,” Alec eluded. “I should have told you.”

“No need to apologize, Alexander,” Magnus replied softly, but with a strictness Alec had never seen in him before. “We can’t expect to know everything about each other in so little time.”

Alec swallowed, and wondered if Magnus could feel his heart slamming in his ribcage against his back.

“I have read your book,” Alec said abruptly, hoping it would alleviate some of the tension that had built between them.

Magnus leaned to the side so he could turn to give him a puzzled look, but he quickly focused back on the path. “Which one?”

“Pandemonium,” Alec said.

“What did you think?”

He asked it in an uncluttered tone, airily, with a dismissive flourish of his fingers that made the cape loosen around the two of them. Alec probably would have been fooled had he not be standing close enough to hear the hitch in Magnus’ voice and feel his body tense against his own.

“I see why my sister is such an admirer,” Alec admitted quietly, the sound of Idris’ hooves against the ground enough to cloak it from the rest of the world.

They were just reaching the fringe of the woods. Soon the real world would materialize around them again, and Alec wasn’t certain he wanted it to.

This other reality seemed much more appealing, liberating in ways he knew - somehow, he knew - he would never be able to find out of this secluded communion he and Magnus had created.

“Why is that?” Magnus asked lowly.

Alec inhaled deeply. At the end of the path, he could see the lights were still on in the mansion and he could distinguish the familiar figures moving on the terrace, waiting for them to come back.

“She was never one for conformism,” Alec said, a small smile playing on his lips, “and you’re… _different_.”

It seemed too weak of a word to describe Magnus, but Alec didn’t think he knew one that would enclose everything that he was.

As he had read his words, Alec had imagined a thousand things to tell him through a tight throat, but he had forgotten them all now, but he hoped Magnus could hear it in that one and feeble word.

Magnus was different, and to himself only Alec could admit he was, too.

“I don’t think I would like myself very much if I were just like everyone else,” Magnus said softly. “To be different, Alexander. To be unique. Is that not the real divine gift?”

There was no mistaking the shrewd edge of his statement.

“We live in a world where being different is an unforgivable sin,” Alec murmured. His fingers were shaking and he tightened his grip on the reins.

“I don’t believe in Heaven,” Magnus retorted. “But if I did, I wouldn’t want to go there. It sounds positively boring, and white really isn’t my color.”

Alec chuckled, his heart fluttering in his chest.

Under the moonlight, they found their way back to the mansion. Jace was already back at the stables, and Isabelle and Lydia quickly joined them, relief pregnant on their features.

Magnus hopped down the horse. “My apologies,” he said. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Isabelle dismissed it with a wave of her hand. “We are happy to see you safe.” She gave Alec a pointed look that he chose to ignore, before sending Magnus a smile. “That is all that matters.”

“Come on,” Lydia said with a benevolent smile. “Let’s get you inside. Simon made you tea, and Meliorn lit a fire in the chimney.”

Magnus threw Alec one last smile and followed her inside, and Alec finally allowed himself to heave out a deep sigh as he jumped down Idris, stroking the horse’s neck in gratitude.

_To be different, Alexander. To be unique. Is that not the real divine gift?_

He closed his eyes as the words echoed into his mind with vivid sharpness.

He hadn’t dared to say to Magnus how utterly terrified he was of his own difference, for the consequences in the society they evolved in were not only Hell in the afterlife, but it was Hell on earth, every day, every hour, every second until he died and there was nothing left of him but his empty carcass for the worms to feast on.

His leg throbbed, serving as a painful reminder, and Alec hissed between his teeth.

He didn’t know if Magnus’ carelessness was bravery or folly, but it made him equally envious and wary, even more so when his body and mind seemed to react to it in ways Alec couldn’t control.

Bracing himself with a deep breath, Alec went back inside.

Different would have to wait another life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go, cupcakes!
> 
> Next chapter should be coming soon enough. It's already written but I'll wait until I'm done with the third one to post it!
> 
> The poems in this chapter are, in the right order:  
> \- Ode on Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood by William Wordsworth (that's where the title is from)  
> \- I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud by William Wordsworth.
> 
> I'm on tumblr [@lecrit](http://lecrit.tumblr.com/) and on twitter [@_L_ecrit](https://twitter.com/_L_ecrit).
> 
> See you soon.  
> All the love,  
> Lu. ❤


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello cupcakes,
> 
> Here's chapter two. Expect more poetry, Alec being extra and Magnus being king of the world coz it's Magnus and that's the only way to go.
> 
> As always, #lecrit to live-tweet.

Magnus’ first month in London was blissful.

He had spent it exploring the city, seeking inspiration in the busy sidewalks of Oxford Street and the quiet banks of the Thames river, discovering the fashion, the tea rooms and the culture of a country he had only ever known through Ragnor’s tales.

Never had he felt so surrounded by beauty. It seemed to be everywhere, from the rain that sometimes battered the city, to the mist that enveloped it in an eerie atmosphere, to the faces of the people, who were blunt but somehow courteous at the same time, friendly but equally distant.

There were books and literature everywhere he looked, words and plays and poetry in every corner of every street.

Then, there was Alexander, and Magnus found he didn’t regret New York as much as he had expected to.

He missed Ragnor, if anything, but after receiving a letter from him counting the never-changing life he had left behind, the feeling had subdued.

When he wasn’t exploring the city, Magnus favored the peaceful alcove he had found in the study. There, he could let himself get lost into the words of others, engrossed to the point where reality lost its meaning and he was transported in a whole other world where the rules were set by another but he could bend them at his own will.

Alec joined him, often. Most of the time, it was quiet, but there were those particular afternoons where they would debate about a book they had both read, or an article in the newspaper that stirred up disagreement between them. They always found a common ground in the pleasure they both took in conversing with each other, how effortless it felt and how liberating it was to argue with someone who provided a real challenge. The confrontation of their minds extended to their long, stimulating chess games.

After the first couple of times, once Alec was accustomed to playing again - and against an opponent that made it arduous for him - Magnus had lost as often as he had won, but it only served to make him more eager at the prospect of their next match.

He had learned, too, that all Lightwoods shared those traits that made them intriguing, albeit each in their own peculiar way.

Isabelle was blunt as her brother, fierce in her convictions but incredibly sweet to whomever she cared for. She had invited him a few times to the meeting she attended every week with a few other women to discuss their rights and the unfairness of their position in a society that asked of them an obedience they were not willing to provide.

There, he had seen Lydia again, and had met Maia, a nurse who worked with Luke and shared with Isabelle the sharpness of her words and the kindness of her heart. He had later uncovered she was a dear friend of Alec’s, and she was often the reason why he disappeared for entire afternoons, for he argued and debated with her with the same verve he employed with Magnus himself.

Maia visited, too, whenever her work allowed her to. Magnus had quickly understood that if she didn’t have the title because the society they lived in didn’t allow it, she was as much of a doctor as Luke was, and Alec never argued when she demanded to see his leg and assert the current state of his recovery.

Alec’s leg seemed to be a bit of a prohibited topic, however. The injury was there, visible to the world in his slight limp and in his ever present cane, but it was barely ever mentioned, unless Luke or Maia visited, or his siblings showed the signs of concern Magnus had learned to mirror naturally. He didn’t know what had caused it, or even how old it was but he hadn’t dared to ask, not even to Isabelle, whom he had grown to consider a friend.

Little Maxwell was a wonder to be with. He was ten, and forever curious of the world around him. If he always seemed to head to his lessons with Hodge reluctantly, he came back with never-ending enthusiasm and was positively thrilled to find Magnus to share everything he had learned with him. Magnus had become fond of the boy, and looked forward to it every day.

Jace, however, was another story. Ever since Magnus had gotten lost in the woods, he had been giving him side looks, not even bothering to cast his eyes away when Magnus caught him staring. If his affections hadn’t quite obviously and exclusively been absorbed by their stable girl Clary, Magnus would have questioned the nature of his affections.

It was another matter of affection that was the only dark cloud in the unexpectedly clear sky of Magnus’ time in England.

It manifested only in hazel eyes and tousled dark hair, in gentle smiles and bashful touches, in lingering glances and unspoken words.

Magnus was a man of words, and unspoken ones had always unnerved him, but never as much as they did when they faltered around Alexander’s lips, disarming in the myriad of possibilities they offered without ever being uttered.

Alec spoke with his eyes in ways he wasn’t conscious of, and if Magnus had blamed a trick of his wishful mind at first, he had been forced to come to the conclusion of their veracity by their recurrence.

It followed Magnus during his moments of solitude, sending warmth creeping beneath his skin and confusion swirling in his mind. It was fascination that kept him awake even in the dead of the night, in nights like this one when he stayed up late in the study. It spurred a new kind of inspiration, words spilling easily through his fingers as he wrote in his leather-bound notebooks until his eyes felt heavy with slumber and his body sore from being curled up on the armchair by the window for too long.

Still, he was restless. His mind wouldn’t find peace as long as he hadn’t unveiled every secret that hid behind Alec’s hazels, but he couldn’t push; wouldn’t adventure himself in venturing on that path, no matter how he longed to.

For those were dangerous thoughts, and Alec had more to lose than Magnus did.

And there was nothing to prove to him that they were not framed by his overrunning imagination, and the hope that had crawled through his veins and settled on his heart. A heart that had already bent again, and again, enough so that Magnus had learned his lesson and had no care for opening it again if the outcome was bound to be more heartbreak.

Magnus simply wouldn’t - or couldn’t, he wasn’t sure - allow it.

Heaving out a deep sigh, Magnus blinked out of his stupor, looking down at his notes. The last of them that were remotely usable had been written over an hour ago. From then on, it was only doodles of trees and lonely words scattering the pages. There was no use to keep the pretence up any longer.

The night was already advanced, and Magnus knew he wouldn’t produce anything worth being called writing for the rest of the night, so he closed the notebook and finished his glass of wine in one gulp, grabbing the oil lamp from the desk before heading back to his room.

The mansion was quiet, nothing to break the silence but the whistle of the wind outside and the flapping of the wings of the bats that occupied the little gaps beneath the roof.

He had gotten accustomed to the sound of the night around the estate. Perhaps it was why he found the whimper that reached his ears startling enough to stop in his tracks.

At first, he thought it was another of his mind’s creations, or the lack of sleep that had finally rendered him insane, but it happened again. It was a sound of pain, and Magnus walked towards it at a careful pace, his stomach lurching when he realized where his steps had taken him.

He had never been in Alec’s room before, but he knew this was the one. Isabelle had mentioned it when she had given him the tour of the mansion, Alec’s leg being too painful for him to continue their exploration that day.

Magnus shut his eyes, pondering with himself on the best route of action. It was evident, however, and he was about to walk away and straight to his room when the whimper turned into a groan, which turned into a devastating howl, and he was moving before he could stop himself.

Magnus pushed the door open and closed it behind him, striding his way to the bed. Alec was thrashing between the sheets, perspiration shining on his forehead, brows creased in a grimace of anguish. His shirt had been ripped in his struggle with his own demons, and his muscular chest was heaving with tormented pants, but Magnus didn’t let himself stare.

He reached out instead, curling his fingers on Alec’s shoulder and shaking lightly. It was burning beneath what was left of his shirt, the material clinging to his pale skin.

“Alexander,” he called softly, but it did nothing to alleviate the man’s woe. Magnus shook him again, harder this time. “Alexander,” he called again, as loud as he could without shouting.

Alec’s eyes fluttered open, a shout dying on his lips. He looked disoriented for a moment, his breath coming out in short puffs, gaze drifting left and right until he seemed to recognize the familiar surroundings. It settled on Magnus, finally, and his body slouched all at once, as if drained of all its spirit.

“M-Magnus?” he croaked out, voice hoarse. “What are you doing here?”

“You must forgive my impudence, Alexander,” Magnus murmured. “I heard you screaming on my way to my room and I was worried.”

“No,” Alec said faintly, pushing the palms of his hands against his eyes. “No, it’s alright. I should apologize.”

Magnus lifted an eyebrow. “You have nothing to apologize for,” he said. “Surely you have no control over your own nightmares.”

The light was faint, the room lit solely by the oil lamp Magnus had settled on the night table, but it was enough for him to see the resignation that creased Alec’s brows.

“Surely not,” he muttered under his breath.

Magnus hesitated, his hand hovering above Alec’s shoulder but not touching, the other one closed in a tight grip over his knee. He inhaled deeply, and titled his head to the side.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

His voice was low, careful, as gentle as he was able to, but Alec stiffened all the same. He had regained some of his composure, his breathing now even and steady, but it skipped when he glanced up at Magnus.

“I-I don’t know,” he murmured.

Magnus nodded, his fingers resting delicately on Alec’s shoulder. “Very well,” he said. “Do you want me to leave?”

“I-” Alec started, but the word stumbled against his lips.

His eyes had widened slightly, but they never wavered away from Magnus, and there was too much in his gaze for Magnus to read. Fear, doubt, disarray, reserve. They all danced in his eyes as they drifted over Magnus’ face like they were encrypting a book written in a long forgotten language.

Alec licked his lips, panting. “No,” he murmured with disarming resolve. “I don’t.”

Silence reigned, master of the night and of their very own quietude in the closed quarters of Alec’s room. It reigned, and stretched until Magnus was sure the quickening in Alec’s breathing wasn’t a fruit of his imagination, no more than the longing glances and bashful smiles had been.

It was a silent confession, but it was worth a thousand words.

Alec’s face was open like it rarely was, and Magnus wondered if he let down the mask only in the dead of the night, when there was no one but his own demons to witness it.

And now, Magnus.

Then, Alec seemed to realize what he had said. His features twisted in a horrified grimace, and he moved away in a hurry, Magnus’ hand dropping flat on the mattress.

“Oh God,” he murmured, as if admonishing himself. He looked up, setting a panicked gaze on Magnus. “I’m sorry. You’re free to leave if you wish. I didn’t mean to bother you and I don’t want -”

“Alexander,” Magnus said calmly.

Alec stilled at once, heaving out a shaky breath.

Magnus sent him a soft smile, and it seemed to soothe the last of Alec’s nerves. “I borrowed William Blake’s Pickering Manuscript from the study,” he continued, bowing his head towards the book in his hands. “Would you like to hear some?”

Alec smiled that peculiar smile of his, the one that brought only one corner of his mouth up and softened his entire face, the one that conveyed gratitude but not to Magnus himself, to the greater forces they both failed to recognize and yet seemed to have played their part in their acquaintance.

Alec shifted in the bed, leaving room for Magnus to sit more comfortably at his side.

“Please,” he whispered.

Magnus nodded, settling against the headboard. Alec laid on his side to face him. His hair was even more of a mess than it usually was, and Magnus gripped the book a little tighter to prevent himself from reaching out and carding his fingers through the untamable strands.

“ _To see a world in a grain of sand, and a heaven in a wild flower,_ ” Magnus read, focusing on the words.

“Thank you,” Alec murmured under his breath, and this time the gratitude was only aimed at Magnus.

“ _Hold infinity in the palm of your hand and eternity in an hour_ ,” Magnus continued, brushing his fingers against Alec’s, just lightly enough to let him know he had heard him.

That he had heard everything, even the unspoken words.

Alec’s fingers shifted against his own, skimming over his palm. It was prudent, secretive, and it made Magnus’ heart slam against his ribcage.

_To those who dwell in realms of day_ , Blake had written.

Magnus had always favored the night.

.

The sun peeking through the window teared Magnus out of sleep. His eyes blinked open, slowly adapting to the light and widening as he realized where he was.

“Holy-” he murmured under his breath, but stopped abruptly as Alec hummed in his sleep, tightening his hold on Magnus’ waist.

He didn’t know how it had happened, but he had fallen asleep before he could get back to his room, and somehow slipped more comfortably into the bed so they were laying side by side, Alec’s arm flushed around him and his nose tickling the back of Magnus’ neck.

Magnus held his breath, although he wasn’t sure why he feared that Alec would wake up and see for himself. As quietly and cautiously as he could, he slipped out of the warmth of Alec’s arms and his room.

If they were lucky enough, perhaps Alec would have forgotten altogether what had happened the night before, or put it down to his mind, strained by his nightmare, making up some kind of comfort so he could get back to sleep.

Magnus could pretend nothing had happened. It was the safest course for the both of them.

He could pretend his heart hadn’t clutched at the pain on Alec’s features, and then danced to a melody of light and clarity when his fingers had brushed against his own in silent gratitude.

Heaving out, Magnus shut the door behind him, only to nearly jump out of his skin when he swirled around and ended up facing Jace.

“What are you doing here?” Jace growled without preamble. His bi-colored eyes were hard, his jaw set in a tight line and his arms crossed over his chest.

He was far less intimidating than he probably hoped to be, but a ruthless sense of terror clutched at Magnus’ heart nonetheless.

“I-” he started lowly, but he had no excuse to provide, no reason that would be deemed good enough to explain why he was walking out of Alec’s room at dawn, wearing the same clothes he had worn the day before, only rumpled the same way they would if they had been hastily put back on.

Jace pursed his lips at Magnus’ silence, grabbing his arm to guide him further into the corridor, away from Alec’s room, and Magnus followed silently, unsure he had much of a choice.

His heart was pounding in his chest. Ragnor had warned him.

It wasn’t allowed any more in New York than it was in London, but in New York, people didn’t give it a second glance, especially in the circles Magnus had frequented.

_People don’t look away in London_ , Ragnor had told him. _You get arrested, and you get thrown in jail where they beat it out of you._

Jace took him all the way down to the gardens, the biting wind seeping under his clothes and sending a long shiver running down his spine.

October was coming to an end, the trees surrounding the estate casting a riot of colors through the landscape. The air was cooler, and Magnus had told himself more than once that it was the main reason why he spent as much time in the study as he did.

“It’s a bit cold for a morning stroll, Jonathan,” Magnus tried, moving to get back inside.

Jace stopped him with a firm grip on his biceps. “Listen to me,” he growled, and Magnus deflated, nodding gingerly. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing-”

“I’m not doing anything,” Magnus protested at once.

“But it has to stop,” Jace finished, as if he hadn’t spoken at all. “That thing between you and Alec-”

“A friendship,” Magnus provided with a coy smile.

Jace snorted in disbelief, sending him a pointed glare. “You Americans have an odd conception of what a friendship is. Or do you share a bed with all your _friends_ , Bane?”

Magnus gritted his teeth. “It wasn’t like that,” he hissed. He knew they were alone, but he couldn’t help but look over his shoulder to make sure of it. “I heard him screaming in his sleep last night, and I just wanted to make sure he was alright. We talked, and fell asleep. That’s all.”

“It’s enough to have you both arrested!” Jace snapped, and Magnus startled, watching as his stern mask vanished in a moment to leave room for what was truly lying underneath.

Fear.

Not for their name being tarnished. Not for the ruin of their family. For the safety of his brother.

Magnus opened his mouth to say something, anything, but everything seemed dull in comparison to the reality of the situation, to the validity of Jace’s concern.

“I’ll go,” Magnus said with a quick nod. “I… I’ll leave.”

“No,” Jace snapped, shaking his head firmly. “I don’t want you to leave. _No one_ wants you to leave.” The emphasis and the pointed flicker in his gaze made it clear who he was thinking of, and Magnus resisted the urge to smile, as it seemed to be a natural reaction to the thought of Alec now.

He frowned instead, confusion flashing on his face.

Jace sighed. “My brother,” he muttered, and paused, inhaling a shaky breath. “I can see that he’s a lot happier since you got here but what if it had been someone else seeing you walking out of his room at dawn? This is dangerous, and I can’t let him get hurt.”

“That gives us something in common,” Magnus said, hoping his eyes conveyed the sincerity of his words. “I’m not going to hurt him, Jonathan. And I will not do anything that could get him hurt in any way.”

“Right,” Jace said, nodding. “Good. That’s great.” He gave Magnus a small smile, one Magnus sent back with a reassuring look, and Jace’s eyes drifted to Magnus’ clothes with a grimace. “I apologize for dragging you out here. Walls have ears and all that… You should probably go get changed.”

He strode back inside without another word, and Magnus scoffed somewhat fondly, heading back to his room.

.

Rain had been falling in chaotic, relentless drops all afternoon, the roar of the wind carrying them in violent whirls and crashing against the windows.

Alec hadn’t seen Magnus all day.

When he had woken up, he had thought for a moment that their discussion the night before had been a peaceful dream to cut out the stream of agonizing nightmares he had grown accustomed to. It had all been okay - as long as it stayed in his mind, it was okay - until his gaze had dropped to the book on the floor and the memory of Magnus’ voice murmuring William Blake’s words to him had seeped a path to his core.

He had expected his heart to race in panic and his head to swirl with the consequences such a simple act truly entailed, but he hadn’t found in himself the energy to do so.

Instead, he had fallen back on the mattress with a huff, shut his eyes and tried to remember how his voice had sounded, how the poetry had rolled on his tongue beautifully, as if he had written it himself and for Alec only.

Knowing it had been real, that Magnus had indeed been in Alec’s bed the night before - even if he had left before he could wake up, for reasons Alec wasn’t sure he wanted to uncover - Alec could now feel his presence lingering on the bed.

It had been peaceful for as long as it had lasted. One moment, his heart had been pounding in what could only be some kind of ridiculous delight, and the next, dread had taken over. Pain had stabbed at his leg and Alec had swallowed a moan, tears prickling at the corner of his eyes. He wondered if it would ever stop doing that when he let his mind wander too far.

It had already been raining when he left the estate to visit Maia. It made him feel guilty, sometimes, to know that Maia was aware of what he had gone through - _everything_ he had gone through - when Isabelle and Jace stayed blissfully oblivious.

He wished he could have told them, shared with them the story of his broken heart the way he had almost done it with Magnus the night before. But there was too much at stake, and although he knew in his heart they would not hate him - if anything, they would hate the other protagonists of his somber tale - Alec had always been ruled by his head, and his head could not let him forgo the consequences being what he was, being _who_ he was entailed in their society.

So he kept silent, and when the silence was too much, when it burdened on him with the violence of a thousand bullets ripping through his bones, he went to Maia, because she knew. Because she had been the first to see him when he had come back from Egypt, and Alec had cried in her arms and confessed everything he needed to confess before he had to face his family and hold a facade for them and the rest of the world.

It rained, and rained, as Alec poured his heart to her, watching it dribble against the windows of her modest house on Baker Street. Maia had understood his feelings for Magnus before Alec had done so himself, the very first time she had seen them interact when she and Isabelle had organized their weekly meeting of free women at the mansion so they knew it was safe for them to discuss without worrying about hostile listeners.

As always, she was of great advice, and as always, Alec knew he would listen but not act on it. Maia, much like Isabelle, was one to follow her heart and think of the consequences later. Alec would have loved to own the same freedom - if not in rights, in mind - as they both did, but the reality was elsewhere, and confessing his feelings to Magnus would perhaps ease his heart and his soul, as Maia had assured him, but it would also put him in danger, even more so if Magnus did not share them.

There had been clues, here and there, but Alec was too new to these games to know if they were anything more than his deepest wishes unveiling through an illusion of reciprocacy.

Perhaps Magnus would be insulted. Perhaps, even, although Alec thought he knew him enough now to doubt it, he would take this information and deliver it to the proper authorities, and Alec would be thrown in jail unceremoniously, with no claim to his family name to save him.

There was simply too much to scare, and Alec could not risk it.

He had convinced himself of it on the way back to the mansion, the rain battering against the window of the carriage, but it all vanished into thin air as soon as he stepped in the study and found Magnus there, and the memory of his voice uttering poetry to comfort Alec in the middle of the night came back to him, almost knocking the air out of his lungs with its intensity.

_Love seeketh not itself to please,_

_Nor for itself hath any care,_

_But for another gives its ease,_

_And builds a Heaven in Hell's despair._

His voice had murmured, but the words had echoed in Alec’s heart like a shout.

Magnus was sitting at the deck, facing away, and he startled as the door opened. His eyes found Alec’s as he turned around.

“Hi,” he said softly.

Alec hesitated in the threshold and licked his lips. “Hi,” he replied, in a raw voice that he hardly recognized as his own.

Silence enveloped them, only disrupted by the sound of the rain still lashing outside. There were dark bruises under Magnus’ eyes, the sole testimony of how little sleep he had gotten the night before. He didn’t let anything show on his face that could have told Alec that he was feeling it too, that illumination of the soul, that small, quiet place that Magnus inhabited in his heart by his presence alone, that whisper in his mind that was telling him he was allowed to mend, and to feel, for this was the only way to live his life fully.

Magnus’ face was unreadable, and Alec’s whole body screamed at the loss of the openness he had always displayed in their own little world they had created in this very room.

He took a careful step forward, reaching in the back pocket of his pants to pluck the book he had picked up from the ground in the morning.

“You-” he said, his voice still foreign to his own ears, “you left this behind.”

There was no way for Alec to decipher the myriad of feelings that flashed through Magnus’ eyes as they settled on the book, recognizing the Blake’s collection he had read to Alec the night before. Alec shifted his weight on his right leg, leaning against his cane, stubborn enough not to look away from Magnus even as he refused him a glance.

Warily, Magnus reached out to grab the book. “Thank you,” he all but whispered.

Alec gave him a small smile. He wasn’t sure what had caused the sudden tension between them, the invisible wall that had seemed to grow during the day when they hadn’t even seen each other at all, but it was there, almost palpable.

A part of him was telling him it was what he had been hoping for, a gap where he could keep a clear head and let himself be ruled by logic and rationality. It was what he needed, what was safe, and Alec knew better than anyone the dangers that threatened people like him.

But this voice held very little power against the storm in his heart whenever Magnus was nearby. It was immediately muffled by the overflow of feelings, the need to reach out and touch, even innocently, and the staggering desire for more than that.

It was too much and never enough all at once, and Alec quickly averted his gaze away, looking for something that would bring him back to the real world, where a man could not have the kind of thoughts Alec was having about another man.

“What were you working on?” he asked, gesturing distractedly to the papers scattered on the desk.

Magnus blinked, as if he had forgotten Alec was even there for a moment, and turned back towards the desk. “I’m reading some of my old manuscripts again to see if I can find inspiration in there.”

Alec rapidly read through the few lines that laid on the paper. Magnus had an elegant penmanship, the letters curving in neat, precise lines.

“Is that Chains?” Alec asked.

Magnus quirked an eyebrow, visibly surprised. “How do you-”

“I borrowed more books from Isabelle after Pandemonium,” Alec explained, rubbing his hand on the nape of his neck. “I read Chains just last week. It’s very… different from your previous works.”

“You didn’t like it?” Magnus asked, his usual poise back at once as he lifted his chin up in defiance.

Alec couldn’t help but to smile. “I did,” he said. “But you seem more… cynical, I suppose.”

The corner of Magnus’ mouth tipped up with the beginning of a smile. “Most people say this is my most romantic work.”

“Most people are idiots,” Alec retorted, revelling in the warm laugh it prompted from Magnus. “It’s obvious Elizabeth never had feelings for her husband. If the ending wasn’t clear enough for your readers to understand, you’d think the rest of the book was.”

Magnus grinned. “Marriage seems like a wonderful institution until one actually gets married, Alexander,” he said conversationally, but Alec didn't believe for a second he hadn't measured the true meaning of his words.. “You will know soon enough.”

His tone was light, almost formal. It was meant to pass as a friendly remark, but Magnus’ deep brown eyes spoke as they often did, and the words they spoke were discernible enough for Alec to feel a long shiver run down his spine: Magnus knew.

Alec swallowed past the lump in his throat. He tried to compose his features in a mask of impassivity but he was painfully aware that Magnus had learned to read past it in the past weeks.

He pursed his lips, motioning with a jerk of his chin to Magnus’ hand. “You were married before, weren’t you?”

Magnus stilled, promptly closing his fist to hide the faded ring mark on his finger, and Alec felt guilt lurch in his stomach at the sight. He had meant to change the subject, because talking about his upcoming wedding to Lydia would only highlight how distinctly different his feelings for Magnus were from the ones he sported for his actual fiancée, but seeing the hurt in the writer’s eyes was yet another reminder that Alec could not avoid the harrowing reality.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, and wondered why it felt like half of his conversations with Magnus seemed to be him apologizing and Magnus being eternally patient. “I didn’t mean to be so rude. You don’t have to answer.”

“I’m a widower,” Magnus said nonetheless, abruptly, the words rushing out of his mouth like he wanted nothing more but to get rid of them.

Alec barely held back the urge to curse out loud at his own indiscretion. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he muttered instead.

Magnus shrugged dismissively, fidgeting absently with the top corner of a sheet of paper lying on the desk. “It was an arranged marriage,” he said, voice and gaze distant. “It was not the worst kind you could imagine, I suppose, but I don’t think either of us was happy.”

Alec took a cautious step closer, his heart leaping in his chest when Magnus moved his arm slightly so he could have enough room to sit on the desk, facing him. “Were you Elizabeth or Cassius?” he asked softly.

Magnus scoffed, but the smile ghosting on his lips lacked any trace of humor. “I was both.”

Alec’s brows tugged into a confused frown.

Magnus leaned back in the chair, crossing his legs, the tip of his foot brushing against Alec’s thigh. He should have moved, he knew, but he stayed immobile, tilting his head to catch Magnus’ eyes.

“It was my idea,” Magnus said, somewhat self-depreciatively. “Ragnor would have never forced me to marry, but it was an old deal between his family and Camille’s, and he had no biological son. I was just recovering from another… difficult relationship, and it seemed like the right escape. I didn’t really think about how big of a commitment it was at the time, and once I met Camille, it didn’t matter anymore because I fell in love fairly quickly.”

Alec’s breath hitched in his throat, his heart clenching in his chest, but Magnus had the courtesy of pretending he hadn’t noticed.

“We got married on a summer day,” he continued, the slight curve of his brow the only hint that he had picked on Alec’s reaction. “At first, I think she did make an effort. She pretended to love me back perfectly enough that I believed her. Or perhaps I didn’t want to see the truth for what it was, and the truth was that she didn’t love me, nor did she ever.”

Alec couldn’t quite grasp his mind around the idea, how anyone could look at Magnus and not fall in love - whether it be instantly or slowly but surely - with his utter beauty, inner and outer, with the sharpness of his mind and the dryness of his humor, with the smoothness of his mouth and the kindness of his heart.

The thought alone was ridiculous, and it made the sorrow in Magnus’ eyes all the more unnerving.

Magnus’ nails were still picking at the paper sheet on the desk, and Alec reached out with trembling fingers and laid his hand over his delicately.

Magnus blinked and slowly glanced up, eyes boring straight into Alec’s unabashedly.

He cleared his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing, but he didn’t look away, nor did he pull his hand back.

“We were three years into our marriage when I learned about Camille’s… numerous affairs,” Magnus murmured, worrying on his bottom lip. He grabbed the glass of whisky laying on the desk with his free hand, taking a long sip. “Raphael had spotted her disappearing with a stranger during a party meant to honor my last book. It was Pandemonium, at the time. Raphael is many things, but he is loyal first and foremost, so he told me the same night, once all the guests were gone.”

Alec rubbed his thumb over the back of Magnus’ hand slowly, hesitantly, wondering if Magnus could feel through the touch the wrath he was tasting on his behalf.

“I confronted her about it, and she didn’t even try to deny it,” Magnus muttered with a humorless chuckle. “She just stared at me with all her poise, and asked me if I hadn’t been doing the same all this time, regarding of the lack of feelings between us. I told her I loved her and she laughed to my face. She said love was for children or people of lesser classes than us, who had nothing else to make their lives worth living.”

“I must apologize for calling _you_ cynical, then,” Alec quipped, hoping it would bring back to Magnus’ eyes the light he was already missing.

It did, if for a second only, but it made something akin to pride flutter in Alec’s chest nonetheless.

Magnus shrugged once more, his hand shifting slightly to give more room for Alec’s thumb to stroke his skin.

“After that, things were never the same,” Magnus said, fatally. “I could not pretend I was happy when I knew it was all a farce and for a long time, I let heartbreak consume me. I tried to turn a blind eye on Camille’s affairs, but she stopped being so secretive about it once she knew that I knew. So I dived into writing and Chains was born. The fact that people think it has a happy ending still baffles me when I think about how deeply afflicted I was at the time.”

Alec gently squeezed Magnus’ hand, resisting the urge to push away the loose strand of dark hair that had landed on his forehead. “I saw it,” he murmured, gulping. “I _felt_ it.”

Magnus hummed pensively, gaze boring into his own. “Who broke your heart, Alexander?”

The question felt like a statement more than anything, and it stirred a flow of memories through Alec’s mind, the ones he had been trying so adamantly to suppress ever since he had been back from Egypt.

He shrugged, lost for words, and Magnus gave him a humble smile.

“You will tell me when the time is right,” he said softly.

Alec cleared his throat, glancing down to their entangled fingers, rubbing his thumb against the blank spot on Magnus’ ring finger.

“What happened next?”

“Writing Chains was cathartic for me,” Magnus said. “It cured me of my blinded passion, replaced sorrow by anger, and then anger by acceptance. Since Camille was seeing other people, I decided I could do the same. I met Oscar around the same time. He was visiting New York and I was an admirer of his work, so I arranged for us to meet. We became friends quickly, and something else a while later.”

Alec blinked in surprise. “S-Something else?”

Magnus curved an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Are you playing coy, Alexander?” he asked, almost playfully.

“No,” Alec replied, shaking his head, hoping his cheeks were not as flushed as he felt them to be. “No, I just - how is it - what exactly are you saying?”

“I have known you for a month and if I have learned to admire one thing about you, Alexander, it’s your intelligence,” Magnus said. “I think you know what I mean.”

If his words were not enough, the pointed look Magnus was sporting had to be.

Alec’s mouth dropped open. “Are you telling me you were Oscar Wilde’s lover?” he blurted out before he could stop himself, his eyes widening in stupor.

Magnus’ lips jumped with a smirk, and Alec was all too aware of his foot resting against his thigh, of their close proximity and the way Magnus’ long limbs spread against the armchair like it was his throne to rule over the world with his devilish charisma and sharp mind.

Magnus didn’t reply, but it was all the confirmation Alec needed.

“What about Camille?” he inquired. The line between simple curiosity and wanting to know everything about Magnus that he was willing to share had blurred, but it was just the two of them, in the safe haven of the study, away from prying ears and judgmental stares, so he didn’t mind too much. “Did she know?”

“I never hid any of my lovers from her, no more than she hid hers from me,” Magnus said. “She wasn’t happy about me doing the same, however. Camille was… controlling over the things she thought belonged to her, and somehow she was under the impression that she could possess people the same way she did furniture or clothes. She believed she owned me, and that if it was normal for her to partake in adultery, it wasn’t right for me to do the same. I refused to let her control me this time around, so she tried to manipulate me so I would go back by her side and never leave again, but I didn’t love her anymore, and I had learned to love myself enough to see through her schemes. I was planning on leaving her and going back to Ragnor’s when she died.” Alec didn’t need to formulate the question that was burning his lips, because Magnus seemed to read it in his eyes. “She was murdered by one of her lovers. He stabbed her multiple times in an excess of jealousy.”

Despite everything, there was regret in Magnus’ tone and a mournful spark in his eyes.

“That’s why you came to London, isn’t it?” Alec inquired, his voice barely over a whisper.

Magnus seemed to hesitate, but he eventually nodded, heaving out a deep sigh. “There was nothing left for me in New York. All I had was Ragnor, and he encouraged me to leave, so I did.”

“I’m glad you did,” Alec said before he could stop himself. His eyes broadened as soon as he did, but it was too late to take it back - and he wasn’t sure he truly wanted to anyway.

Magnus chuckled, a fond flicker lighting up his brown eyes. His thumb lightly stroked Alec’s one.

“I’m glad I did, too,” he murmured, a confession for the two of them only.

They shared a glance, heavy with a meaning Alec couldn’t pretend to ignore any longer. The study seemed too small for them now, the walls closing in on them to shield them from the rest of the world.

“I see why your opinion on marriage is recusant,” he mumbled.

“Arranged marriage, Alexander,” Magnus corrected. “Marrying out of love is something else entirely.”

Alec stiffened, the air charged with another kind tension at once. “Not everyone can afford it,” he said.

“Not in the world we live in, I’m afraid,” Magnus replied, resignation layering his voice.

He raised to his feet, and Alec’s breath hitched in his throat at their sudden proximity. He could discern so much in Magnus’ gaze, it was overwhelming, and his heart seemed about to bolt out of his chest. He tightened his fists, refraining the urge to reach out and grab on Magnus’ shirt to pull him closer, as close as he could, as close as he would.

“If I learned anything,” Magnus murmured, his warm breath crashing against Alec’s lips, leaving them tingling, “it is that you can’t fool yourself into a sense of happiness forever, and happiness comes from embracing your true self and living by it.”

Alec lowered his gaze, feeling like his skin was suddenly too thin to contain everything he was feeling.

“That sounds like a beautiful dream,” he whispered.

Magnus’ smile was sad. “I know.”

“I- I wish I could,” Alec said, the words feeling heavy on his tongue.

Magnus reached out to cup his cheek, and Alec leaned into the touch despite his best intentions.

“I know,” Magnus said, stroking Alec’s cheekbone with his thumb.

With a sigh, he tipped his head closer, planting a soft kiss against his cheek, faint enough that Alec would have believed he had dreamed if it wasn’t for Magnus’ touch keeping him anchored to the reality.

“Good night, Alexander,” he murmured, and then he was gone, his presence lingering in the study, wrapping Alec in his own solitude.

His cheek was tickling where Magnus had kissed him, but Alec could barely feel it through the tears brimming in his eyes. He gritted his teeth to hold them back, dropping in the armchair with a deep sigh, heart pounding in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on tumblr [@lecrit](http://lecrit.tumblr.com/) and on twitter [@_L_ecrit](https://twitter.com/_L_ecrit).
> 
> The poems in this chapter are, in the right order:  
> \- Auguries of Innocence by William Blake.  
> \- The Clod and the Pebble by William Blake.
> 
> Next time, expect some Shakespeare and Matthew Arnold. Also, angst ;)
> 
> Thank you to Pravs and Jackie for betaing. You're the best and ily ❤
> 
> See you soon and stayed tuned, I might have a cookie coming for you some time this week ;)
> 
> All the love,  
> Lu.
> 
>  
> 
> Ps: still haven't found my chill, there might be five chapters after all...


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello cupcakes,
> 
> New chapter, more angst, more poetry, still zero chill to be found.
> 
> This chapter is early but hey, it's Suhasini's birthday so clearly it's a day for miracles. Happy birthday to you, babe. Enjoy your son in pain, since you're trash for angst and this is possibly the best present I could have planned for you.
> 
> And happy birthday Lion, too!!! Can't believe we're blessed enough to have two legends born on the same day. Way to go, October 14th!
> 
> Happy reading.
> 
> Ps: #lecrit to live-tweet but you know the drill by now.  
> Ps2: Sorry.

A gentle hush cloaked the city, silent as the night, and before Magnus knew how it had happened, the gravel-gray sky was brumous and winter was here.

If fall had been mesmerizing in its own way - mostly for the myriad of colors that jolted through the woods that bordered the estate - winter was something else.

Naked trees now surrounded them, lining the alley to the estate, dancing crisply with the freezing breeze and Magnus had never been more grateful for the warmth of the study, the fireplace flooding it with a comforting heat.

With winter, however, came boredom.

When the weather had been more clement, exploring the city had been easier, but with snow covering the estate in a thick blanket, outgoings had become arduous, and it wasn’t always worth the trouble.

Still, Magnus was starting to grow restless. After their last encounter in the study, he had tried to avoid Alec - or perhaps Alec was avoiding him, he wasn’t sure. The reality was probably both.

Magnus missed him, oddly.  They still lived under the same roof, still saw each other for breakfast, still shared a smile or a glance every now and then, but their private conversations had stopped, as had their quiet moments in the study, heated debates or hushed poems read in the dead of the night.

It was absurd, but he missed him even when he was there. He missed him and his wit, his bashful grins and his unsuspected crudeness when he was angry at the world’s unfairness.

“Stop sighing,” Raphael grumbled. “I told you it was a bad idea, and you went and walked head first into it anyway and now you’re miserable. You should’ve listened to me.”

Magnus rolled his eyes. It was an early Sunday morning, the sun was barely starting to peek through the curtains but Magnus had been awake for hours, watching the snow fall by the window, trapping him inside. Raphael had eventually walked in, mumbling about needing to borrow a tie for church.

“I’m not miserable,” he said, in an arguably miserable voice. “I’m just bored.”

“Then come to church with us,” Raphael offered, straightening the lapels of his shirt. “God knows you need it.” Magnus threw him an unimpressed glare, and Raphael huffed in annoyance. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he growled. “You know I didn’t. I don’t care about your heart preferences, I meant everything else about you.”

Magnus chuckled. “For a split second, I almost thought you did care about me, my friend.”

“Good to know you quickly came back to your senses,” Raphael retorted, the hint of a smile on his pale face.

Magnus shook his head. “I fail to see how going to church will cure me from my boredom instead of deepening it.”

Raphael shrugged, turning his back to Magnus to fuss with the tie around his neck. “It’s a great place for gossip,” he said, an undertone suggesting he knew he had found the right argument to pique Magnus’ interest. “And the priest is Clarissa’s brother.”

“Clarissa?” Magnus echoed bemusedly. “Our Clarissa? Stable girl Clary?”

Raphael hummed in approval. “That one.”

He swirled back to face Magnus, visibly holding back a triumphant grin.

Magnus rolled his eyes again. “Fine,” he mumbled. “I’m curious now. I’ll go.”

Raphael’s grin broadened. “You should consider bathing in holy water before we leave. I’m not entirely certain your corrupted soul won’t be turned into ashes as soon as you step inside.”

Magnus glared at him. “You’re even worse of a friend than you are a driver,” he fired back.

Raphael didn’t appear very affected by the fact.

.

The Lightwoods didn’t try to hide their surprise when Magnus told them he would attend mass with them while they were having breakfast, but they welcomed him like they had since the very beginning: with a smile.

Alec was more reserved about it, but then again, reserved and distant was all he had been with Magnus in the past weeks. Magnus knew it wasn’t against him _per se_ , and that the treatment he reserved Alec was hardly better, but it stung nonetheless, although he quickly hid it with a beam when the youngest Lightwood addressed him.

“But church is boring,” he stated with an ounce of hesitation, levelling Magnus with a puzzled look. “Why do you want to come?”

“Staying locked inside is even more boring, little Maxwell,” Magnus told him with a benevolent smile. “And Raphael told me the priest is Clary’s brother so I’m curious now.”

Alec cut his silence to release a groan, followed by a huff. A heavy silence settled around the table, and Alec seemed to realize what he had just done because his eyes widened at once, his cheeks flushing.

Isabelle chuckled before Alec could open his mouth to apologize, and she glanced back at Magnus with a curved eyebrow.

“Sebastian and Clary are _very_ different,” she said.

“Yeah,” Jace mumbled through a mouthful of pancake. “Clary is a good person.”

Magnus smirked, leaning on the table, munching on an apple. “I was curious, now I’m intrigued,” he said, curving an eyebrow. “Aren’t men of the church supposed to be all righteous and irreproachable?” he asked, voice heavy with sarcasm.

“Welcome to England,” Alec deadpanned, albeit not unkindly.

“I’m glad you’re coming,” Max said, with all the innocence of his age. “It’ll be less boring if you’re there.”

“I’ll do my best.” Magnus sent him a playful wink, and Max grinned.

Snow was still falling when they got outside, all clad in their winter coats. It was oddly quiet, as if the snow had completely smothered all the sounds of nature. Even the wind had stopped whistling.

The ride to church was mostly quiet too, but it was short enough not to be uncomfortable.

Magnus stood next to Alec as they stepped down the carriage, watching the imposing building tower over them, Isabelle and Jace immediately joining Lydia on the front steps.

Alec seemed to hesitate for a moment to do the same, brows tipped down into a frown, and Magnus glanced at him.

“Is everything alright, Alexander?” he asked softly.

Alec nodded. “I used to like winter,” he murmured. “I didn’t need an excuse to spend my days locked in the study then, but my parents always insisted on dragging us to church every Sunday no matter the weather. I didn’t mind it that much when it was Father William. He died while I was in Egypt, however.”

“I still don’t understand why you force yourself to go,” Magnus said gently. “You obviously hate it.”

Alec shrugged. “It’s my duty to uphold my family’s image while my parents are away,” he said, somehow equally firm and reluctant.

“I understand,” Magnus said, although he wasn’t sure he entirely did. “Would it tarnish it so terribly if you joined me for a game of chess when we get back? I just finished reading a new book that I’d like to talk to you about.”

He could hear the vulnerability in his own voice, and was certain Alec had read it in his eyes for his own softened at once.

He heaved out, his breath coming out in a cloud of steam. “I don’t think it will,” he murmured.

Magnus smiled, and his heart skipped a beat when Alec smiled back at him, hazel eyes crinkling in the corners.

Quickly glancing away, Alec looked up to the sky, watching the snow dance peacefully. A snowflake landed on his nose, and he clenched his jaw.

“ _How like a winter hath my absence been,_ ” he murmured, keeping his gaze away from Magnus. “ _From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year! What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen! What old December's bareness everywhere!_ ”

Magnus’ breath hitched in his throat, but if anyone asked, he would blame the cold.

“I didn’t know you liked Shakespeare,” he said.

Alec’s lips turned with a small, but somewhat sad smile, his eyes still stubbornly riveted to the silvery skies. “I’m English,” he said, his accent rolling on his tongue as if to prove the veracity of the words. “He is our national pride.”

Magnus scoffed out a quiet laugh. “You know I know how that poem ends, right?”

Alec nodded. “ _For summer and his pleasures wait on thee,_ ” he recited, his voice quivering a little. “ _And thou away, the very birds are mute; Or if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near._ ”

Magnus gulped and looked over his shoulder to make sure no one was there to listen to them. It could have easily been explained to prying ears. They were two men who loved books, and poetry, and the snow was bound to make a poetic heart swirl with the words of their greatest authors.

It was more than that, and they both knew it.

It was a confession, the kind that couldn’t happen inside where the alabaster effigies would cast a judgmental look on them.

It was an _I miss you. Even when you’re there, I am missing you_.

“I miss the summer days,” Alec said. His voice was strained, quivering still. Finally, he glanced down, setting his eyes on Magnus, levelling him with a look devastating in its simplicity. “We long for that we cannot have, don’t we?”

Magnus laid a hand on his shoulder as he led them inside, a touch that would appear innocent to the eyes of the bypasser but made his fingers tingle with warmth.

“It’s always summer somewhere, my dear,” he murmured.

He took his hand off just in time to feel Alec’s body tremble - whether it was from the cold, the name Magnus had called him or something else entirely, he couldn’t know.

St John’s was admittedly a beautiful building, as nonconformist as it could be for a church, architecture implemented with a Gothic style that was somehow alleviated by a modern touch in its unorthodox front that made Magnus wonder if the church’s shape would be that of a cross, as were all the typical churches of England.

Inside, the stained glass windows made the grey skies seem lighter, the pictures of saints and depictions from the Bible sending an uncomfortable shiver down Magnus’ spine. He had never liked churches. In Indonesia, they had been few, and once he had moved to America, perhaps Ragnor’s aversion for everything sacred had been more contagious than he had first thought.

Magnus was teared away from his observation by a drawling voice.

The priest was standing in front of them, and Magnus was struck by his young age. He had high cheekbones that complemented a sharp jawline and clear blue eyes that seemed hollow and vain in a way that made Magnus quirk an eyebrow.

“Captain Lightwood,” the priest exclaimed. “I see you finally brought your guest. We were starting to worry for his soul.”

Magnus was so taken aback by the nerve of the man that his mouth dropped open, his eyes widening in shock as he set an inquisitive gaze on Alec.

His eyes were set on the priest, however, lips turned into a frown. “That’s very benevolent of you, Father Sebastian,” he replied with a lethal smile, “but I am sure his soul is doing well.”

“I highly doubt it, as we have never seen his face before,” the priest retorted, his lips curving into a smirk that made Magnus seriously doubt on which side of the manichean hell or heaven spectrum he was on. He turned to face him, his eyes widening in false innocence. “Don’t worry, it is never too late to pledge yourself to the Lord and accept Him in your life. You should come to the confessional one of these days. It is the first step towards redemption.”

Magnus’ first instinct was to snort but he managed to suppress it by biting on the inside of his cheek, inhaling deeply through his nose.

“Of course, Father,” he said, smirking all the same. “When do you have a free afternoon?”

Sebastian blinked, and his eyes flashed with wrath for a second, but he quickly composed himself. “Confessional is open every morning of the week, Mr. Bane.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Magnus said absently, gaze drifting to where Max was gesturing for them to join them.

Alec gave the priest a quick nod and walked away, Magnus on his heels.

They dipped their fingers in the holy water dispenser near the entrance, making the cross sign almost automatically.

“He seems… uncommon,” Magnus commented airily.

“That’s one word for it,” Alec replied dryly in a murmur. “Be careful around him, okay? His father is a powerful man, and he knows the Archbishop very well.”

Magnus pressed his lips in a thin line, but acquiesced as he stopped at the end of the pew.

“I want you to sit next to me, Magnus!” Max exclaimed, and rolled his eyes when his siblings hushed him all together. “Please,” he added in a whisper, showing his pearly teeth in a wide, innocent grin.

Magnus turned a probing glance to Alec, the fond look in the hazels answering for him and he smiled, sliding in the pew to sit next to Max, Alec at his side.

Lydia was sitting a few rows in front of them and Magnus smiled when she waved at him, nodding in greeting. Her blue eyes wandered to Alec then and her grin turned brighter.

Magnus ducked his head and ignored the agonizing clutch in his chest, tilting his head towards Max instead.

“Wanna make it less boring?” he whispered, jerking his chin towards the front of the church.

Max broadened widely, and he darted a wary look at his older brother before nodding eagerly.

“We each choose something he is willing to say a lot and whoever picks the one he says the most wins.”

Max’s face pulled into a pensive grimace for a second, before his brown eyes lit up. “I want to count how many times he says amen!” he murmured, making sure to keep his voice down.

“Wise choice,” Magnus replied with a smirk, raising to his feet with the rest of the congregation as Father Sebastian walked to the front to stand by the altar. “I will go with holy.”

“Oh,” Max breathed out, disappointed. “That’s probably better than mine.”

“We’ll see,” Magnus said with a wink.

“Really?” Alec hissed disapprovingly at his side, just as Father Sebastian started talking.

“I’ll go with the Lord,” Jace chimed in from Max’s side. “I’m gonna crush you.”

Alec went to protest, but Isabelle was already leaning forward from where she sat next to Jace so she could catch their eyes.

“Christ,” she simply said.

Alec heaved out a deep, defeated sigh, looking forward and pretending to pay attention to the apostles letters that were being read.

Magnus gently nudged his side with his elbow. “Your turn, Alexander,” he muttered playfully.

“I don’t want to play,” he chastised, brows tugged in a stubborn frown.

“Come on, big brother,” Isabelle urged, flashing an innocent smile when the man sitting in front of her turned around with a scowl. “Just say something we should count.”

Alec pursed his lips and refused to dignify their attempts with a glance. There was a hint of a smile on his mouth when he next spoke, however.

“I’ll count how many times he lies about loving people for who they are.”

Magnus snorted, biting on his bottom lip to refrain from laughing. Max didn’t have the same qualms, for he giggled, but it was a child’s laugh, crystallin and carefree, so no one seemed to hold it against him.

“Savage,” Magnus murmured under his breath. “I love it,” he added, and Alec smirked proudly but still denied him a glance.

“Alec wins,” Jace growled dejectedly, although his own voice quavered with a laugh.

Father Sebastian cleared his throat as he started reading the gospel, but Magnus didn’t pay much attention to the words he was saying, counting under his breath. He couldn’t help but to smile when he noticed the Lightwood siblings doing the same, Little Max using his fingers, a frown of concentration on his face.

The priest went on with his sermon, and this time, Magnus listened, if only because the man was baffling in his poise, and fascinating in his absolute intolerance.

“I’m changing mine,” Magnus murmured. Alec shifted at his side, and he knew he had his attention. “I’m counting how many times he promises salvation but only if you pay handsomely for it.”

Alec scoffed under his breath, moving scarcely so he could tilt his mouth towards Magnus’ ear. “We should count how many times Raphael seems to be so offended that he is considering standing up to do the sermon in his stead.”

Frowning, Magnus turned to look at his friend, who was sitting at Isabelle’s side and indeed looked like he was about to commit an unforgivable crime, the vein on his forehead about to burst from the effort it took him to keep his wrath within.

Magnus snickered, chewing on his bottom lip. “I have known him for many years,” he whispered back. “I am still not certain this is not his normal expression.”

The congregation stood in a single movement and lined up in front of the altar for the holy communion and Alec and Magnus rose with them, watching amusedly as Jace, Isabelle and Max compared their results in ushered voices.

Mass went by rapidly after that. When Sebastian announced mass had ended, Magnus probably put too much enthusiasm in replying “Thank God!” but it made Alec snicker again, and his own heart flutter in his chest at the sound, so it had been worth it.

By the time they were in the carriage and on their way back to the mansion, wide grins marred their faces.

“Magnus, you have to come with us _every_ Sunday,” Max insisted. “It’s much more pleasant when you’re here with us!”

Magnus chuckled and vowed he would try, darting his gaze to Alec to share an amused look with him. When his gaze found Alec’s, however, his heart leaped in his throat.

Alec was already looking at him, a smile playing on his lips. It was an unguarded look, but Magnus was too captivated by what he could read in Alec’s hazels to glance away. It was a revelation, for Alec as much as it was for Magnus. It was a matter of beauty, and of reverence to the soul all at once. It was a disclosure, plain and simple, of yearning, and caring, and an even bigger word that Magnus didn’t dare to ponder on, not even in the isolation of his own mind.

It was a gentle, compassionate, soft look but burning all at once, and it moved Magnus at his very core.

It was a whisper, a poem in the dead of the night.

_Alas! is even love too weak_

_To unlock the heart, and let it speak?_

_Are even lovers powerless to reveal_

_To one another what indeed they feel?_

_I knew the mass of men conceal’d_

_Their thoughts, for fear that if reveal’d_

_They would by other men be met_

_With blank indifference, or with blame reprov’d;_

_I knew they liv’d and mov’d_

_Trick’d in disguises, alien to the rest_

_Of men, and alien to themselves—and yet_

_The same heart beats in every human breast._

They were already doomed.

Perhaps Alexander Lightwood would not break his heart. If he didn’t, surely he would be his downfall. It was too late to claim otherwise.

Magnus smiled back nonetheless.

.

The white pawn stood proudly on the third row of the chessboard.

It was a clear challenge, a call to defiance, and Alec felt his walls crumble one by one with fatigue, his shoulders slouching.

The study was empty, but Magnus’ presence lingered, not in the books he had left on the edge of the window, not in his quill that laid forgotten on the desk, but in this simple pawn, staring back at Alec almost provocatively, as if he expected him to run away.

He hadn’t joined Magnus for a game when they had been back from church like he had pledged he would. Fear had paralyzed his bones even more so than the pain lancing through his leg that had forced him to lie down for the afternoon.

Destiny had a funny way to let itself be known.

Alec heaved out a deep sigh, and moved a black pawn to face Magnus’.

He wasn’t sure that was a game he truly wanted to win.

.

Alec remembered the heat all too well, and even more the feeling of missing home that had submerged him on every summer in Cairo. He could recall perfectly how suffocating the air had been, and how his uniform had seemed to be too much, but still he had worn it with pride, the pride of a soldier harboring the colors of his country.

He remembered even better how easily it had all been torn away from him. How the gunshot had cracked into the air as loud as thunder, with all the ruthless power of a storm as the bullet had shredded his flesh and lodged itself through his leg, ripping a scream of agony from his lungs.

There hadn’t been a cloud in the sky. The sun had shone bright and high.

He remembered looking for the shooter, praying inwardly that it hadn’t been a child. Anything, anyone but a child.

His own innocence had already been ripped away from him. He supposed that it was what war did to men. They had told him, before he had left England, that they were fighting so the grass would be greener, so the hearts would be warmer and he had realized too soon what an ugly lie it had been. He had seen misery here, misery like he hadn’t thought possible, misery like he would have never believed had he not seen it with his own eyes.

There was no place for innocence in a place like that.

There was no place for children, so they grew up too fast, and they fought with the means they had, the way they were taught to. They stared in the eyes of death, unafraid, unmoved.

Alec could only think of Max when he saw them, and he could only pray for them to stay children, to stay young and innocent and free from the brutal reality they lived in.

So, even through the agony, even through the flow of blood that had already started to make his head spin, even with the impediment threat of death hanging over him and the suffocating heat smothering his senses, he had prayed all gods and heavens that his death would not be at the hand of a child.

It hadn’t been a child, but Alec hadn’t been able to feel any relief.

Instead, there had been a voice at the back of his mind.

_I should have known. I should have seen it coming._

He remembered wondering if his shooter was conscious that the unabashed hatred he displayed so plainly on his features was mainly directed at himself rather than Alec before darkness enveloped him.

He remembered the powerlessness he had felt when he had woken up in the ward and Dr. Carstairs had told him he was being sent back to England, and that he would never be on a battlefield again, that he would never be able to serve his country and it was a miracle in itself that they had managed to extract the bullet and he still had all his limbs attached.

It was the first day of July. The heat was unbearable, but Alec hadn’t missed home that much once he was told he was going back.

Would the food taste the same now that he knew what hunger was?

Would the whisky his father had taught him to like still warm his cold limbs?

Would the apples from the estate’s orchard and the flowers from the gardens tincture his soul with their vibrant hues?

Would the love from his family ever be enough to fill the gaping hole in chest?

There had been many questions swirling in his mind as the ship taking him back home sailed peacefully, questions that had remained throughout the summer despite the smiles he had forced himself to give, despite the words he had tried to escape in, despite the worry in his loved ones’ eyes.

And then, the vibrant hues had been back, all at once, but not in the flowers mapping intricate patterns in the gardens, not in the apples growing in the trees.

In the very same thing that had brought him to his ruin.

A man.

A vibrant, warm, beautiful man, who spoke the words Alec had always sought to lose himself into.

A man more terrifying than the one that had torn with a bullet what was left of his innocence, for he had earned the power to tear with his words what was left of his heart.

A knock on the door snatched him out of the thought of Magnus and Alec sighed, swallowing past the lump in his throat to allow the intruder to come in with a tensed voice.

He relaxed as soon as he recognized Maia’s friendly features. Her smile turned into a frown as soon as she closed the door behind her and took a proper look at him.

“You look terrible.”

Alec scoffed, wincing in pain as he pushed on his hands to lean against the headboard of his bed. “Good afternoon to you too, Maia.”

“I’m glad to know you’re at least aware of what time of the day it is,” she said, striding her way to the curtains to force them open.

Alec groaned as light burst through the room, bringing a hand up to protect his eyes from the aggression.

She swirled around to face him, arms crossed over her chest, brows pulled together. “Okay, now talk. What is going on with you? Isabelle came to get me completely panicked because you apparently have been lying down for three days because of your leg.”

Alec pressed his lips into a thin line and shrugged. “It just hurts more than it usually does,” he muttered under his breath.

Maia crossed the distance between them to sit down next to him on the bed, tilting her head to catch their eyes. “Did you put too much pressure on it again?” she asked softly, brows furrowed in concern. “Walked for too long?”

Alec shook his head. “None of that.”

“Take off your trousers,” Maia demanded, gesturing vaguely to his legs. “I’ll massage it to ease the pain and while I do that, you can tell me what is going on in that overthinking head of yours.”

Alec went to protest but a pointed look from Maia dissuaded him of it and he reached down to undo his trousers, sliding them down his legs with another wince, before lying back down, staring pointedly at the ceiling.

Maia’s thumbs digged into his thigh and he bit on his tongue to muffle a grunt, inhaling deeply through his nose.

“Talk to me.”

Alec blinked at the ceiling, heaving. “I told you, it’s nothing. It just hurts more than it usually does. I guess I shouldn’t be too quick to dismiss God’s existence.”

Maia lifted a confused eyebrow, her thumbs boring slightly more forcefully at the tense skin around his knee. “What? What are you talking about?”

Alec swallowed hard, pushing the heels of his palms against his eyes and sighing. There was no point in hiding the truth from Maia; she knew him too well.

“I was just starting to think that maybe… maybe I could,” he muttered, and he didn’t need to elaborate any further. Realization flashed in Maia’s dark eyes. “He came with us to church on Sunday and for the first time in forever, going to church didn’t feel like a burden. And I was just looking at him on the way back and I started thinking... Maybe it isn’t so bad. Love cannot be bad, can it?” He choked a little on the word, his eyes burning with a blooming headache as the pain Maia was massaging out of his leg seemed to navigate to his head. The word felt heavy on his tongue, but he couldn’t think of a better one. There was no better one than this one, for it was the brutal and undeniable truth.

“But then…” he continued, pausing to try to control the quaver in his voice. “But then my leg started to hurt and the last time it actually hurt that bad was when I woke up in the hospital. I like to think I don’t believe in celestial forces deciding our destiny for us, I like to think there is no God casting a judgment on our immorality but how can I not when the timing is so perfect?”

He had said it, the ugly truth that had dawned on him when his leg had teared the first cry of pain from him on Sunday afternoon. Now the silence wrapped around him like a poison, bringing a tremor to his hands and making his heart pound frantically in his chest.

When he finally glanced back at Maia, throat tight with unshed tears, her own eyes were shining with a sadness he knew she only bore on his behalf, tears menacing to slip on her dark skin as she blinked at him.

“You -” she muttered, and stopped to shake her head. “You think you’re being punished?”

Alec licked his lips, twisting his fingers nervously.

“I… Yes.”

“Oh, Alec,” Maia sighed, as fondly as it was almost defeated. She took her hands off his leg to grab his own hand between hers. “It’s the cold, you idiot,” she told him, not unkindly. “Your leg hurts more because it’s cold. No one is punishing you.”

When Alec didn’t reply, she squeezed his hand with a little more force. “I think you’ve been punished enough,” she said, and Alec had to shut his eyes, the sound of the gunshot echoing through his mind. “And it was by men. It was the stupidity and bigotry of men alone who hurt you. Not any God, however you choose to call it.”

Alec looked away, heart clenching painfully in his chest, and Maia shuffled closer so she would catch his eyes nonetheless.

“It doesn’t matter how many times I tell you,” she sighed, and Alec felt guilt lurch in his stomach at the self-dejected undertone of her voice. “You do not believe me, my friend. So I will tell you again: you have done nothing wrong. But if you don’t believe me, perhaps- perhaps you ought to talk about it with someone else. Perhaps you need to hear it from someone else. Someone whose opinion matters to you.”

“Your opinion matters to me,” Alec argued at once, brows furrowed.

Maia gave him a gentle smile. “But you are not in love with me, are you?”

Alec sent her a glare but it quickly turned into an amused scoff when he caught sight of the smirk tugging at her lips.

“All I’m saying is that I think you need to hear it from him,” she said softly. “Maybe it’s time for you to share your story with someone else. If not Magnus, then your siblings. Isabelle has been worried sick. Jace, too, although he doesn’t show it as plainly.”

Alec pursed his lips. “I know,” he sighed. “Could you- could you send him on your way out?”

“Jace or Magnus?”

“Magnus,” Alec said lowly. “I will tell Jace and Izzy tonight.”

Maia nodded. “I can’t say I know him as well as you do,” she replied, standing from the bed, “but he is a good man, and I have seen the way he looks at you when he thinks no one is looking. He is no Richard Shaw.”

Alec grimaced in what had become a natural reaction at the name.

“I know,” he murmured.

“I’ll send him in,” Maia said, reaching out to squeeze Alec’s shoulder gently. “You might want to put your trousers back on. Or don’t. I’m sure he won’t mind either way.”

Alec made a show of rolling his eyes, but a small laugh was already slipping past his lips.

“Thank you, Maia.”

She winked at him and disappeared through the door.

Alec shrugged his trousers back on. His leg was still sore but at least the agonizing pain had stopped under Maia’s careful fingers.

It was barely a couple of minutes before there was a knock on the door and Alec suspected Magnus hadn’t been too far from Alec’s room all along.

“Come in,” he said, clearing his throat at the raspy edge of his voice.

Magnus poked his head in. “Maia said you wanted to talk to me.”

Alec swallowed past the lump in his throat and nodded, unable to formulate words.

Magnus slipped inside, shutting the door with his palms and leaning against it.

Alec opened his mouth to talk, to ask him to step closer so he could see his eyes and find there the strength to tell him everything he longed to share, but the words died on his lips, again.

Magnus sucked in a sharp breath. “Alexander,” he said softly, but Alec heard it like it had been murmured in his ear, a long shiver running down his spine. “I must apologize.”

Alec blinked, confused. “What? What for?”

Magnus brought his hands forward, twisting his fingers nervously, and Alec’s stomach squirmed at the knowledge that he had brought this kind of anguish. He wanted to tug him closer, so he could grab his hand and urge any bad feeling away.

“I realize I might have been pushing,” Magnus said. “I didn’t mean to. I tried to stay away but… it’s harder than I thought. The last thing I want is to put you in harm’s way. I take some pride in my ideals of freedom, in being myself as openly as I can but I know I cannot expect the same thing from you, not in the world we live in. Lydia is a lovely -”

“I wasn’t shot by a rebel,” Alec blurted out, because he couldn’t suffer the torment in Magnus’ eyes any longer.

The rest of Magnus’ sentence died on his lips and he stilled, straightening against the door.

Alec pinched the bridge of his nose and braced himself with a deep breath before looking up, holding out the same hand.

“Please,” he breathed out.

Magnus’ body seemed to move on its own accord, stepping closer until his fingers were slipping into Alec’s hand and he was sitting down next to him.

“I’m sorry if I made you feel like my problem was with you,” Alec said. “It’s not. You’re… You haven’t done anything wrong. If I seem to be pushing you away, I don’t do it because of you, Magnus. This is all on me.”

Magnus frowned. “I must say I’m confused, Alexander.”

“I know.” Alec licked his lips. “It’s just… I’m scared.”

“So am I,” Magnus admitted without an ounce of hesitation. “I know the risks. It’s why I’m telling you I won’t push again.”

Alec shook his head. “No,” he sighed. “I mean… Yes, there is that. I don’t want you to get hurt, and I would never forgive myself if that happened because of me.”

“Alexander,” Magnus murmured, “I can take care of myself.”

“I know,” Alec said quickly. “But that’s not all there is.”

Magnus didn’t reply this time, urging him to go on with a small smile and a scarce nod.

“When I was in Egypt, my regiment was based in Cairo,” Alec said, driving the flashbacks away. “I was part of a small squad, one of the few that had learned to use sniper rifles and we were the best ones so we rarely went on the battlefield. We mostly served special missions, the highly dangerous ones where skills like ours were needed. There was a man in my unit, Richard Shaw. Tall, blonde, blue eyes.”

His voice quivered some, and Magnus tightened his hold on his hand.

“I have never been interested in women the way a man is supposed to,” Alec murmured. He hoped the confession would lift a weight from his shoulders, but the burden was still there, no matter the struggle it had been to voice the words out loud. “I had never had any trouble in hiding it, though. I knew how dangerous it was for me, for my family, so I kept it concealed. I had already agreed to marry Lydia before I left England. But Richard… Richard looked at me the way no man had ever looked at me, the way I had seen countless women look at Jace.”

“I was far away from home, in another country. As a captain, I had my own tent,” Alec went on. “It made things easier. I thought I was in love. I didn’t know better at the time but… I see now that it was something else.”

He wondered for a brief moment if the words found the deep echo they were meant to convey but Magnus remained impassible, his eyes soft and patient on Alec as he listened to his story.

“Richard and I were not so different,” he said. “He came from a wealthy family up North and had joined the army because it was a family tradition. He had a fiancée back home waiting for him, too. I suppose that made me trust him more than I should have. I figured that since we were not so different, and since we were... involved, I had no reason to fear him.”

A dark look passed on Magnus’ features. “What did he do?” he asked, his jaw flexing in anticipation.

“One night he… snapped,” Alec whispered through a dry throat. He could recall with terrifying clarity how the handsome features had twisted into a mask of pure and unaltered hatred. “Called me names, said I had turned him into an abomination and that I would rot in hell with other degenerates like me. Still I didn’t expect him to say anything to anyone, because he had incriminated himself just as much as I had.”

Alec paused, taking in the look of absolute horror on Magnus’ features. His eyes were shining with a dormant wrath but still he remained silent.

Alec lowered his gaze to their hands. His knuckles had gone white with how tightly he was holding on to Magnus.

“I never knew for sure what he told the other men in our unit, but it couldn’t have been anything good because the next week I was convoked by my Major. I denied the whole thing, of course, and they had no proof against me, so nothing happened. I thought it would be the end of it.”

His voice trembled slightly and Magnus shifted closer almost unconsciously.

“A month later, we were called in for a mission because a case of rifles had been stolen by rebels,” Alec muttered. “It was a common occurrence. We had been on that type of mission a hundred times before. When we arrived to the place where the rebels were supposedly hiding, though… It was empty.”

“I just remember hearing the gunshot and the pain immediately afterwards.” His throat tightened and he could feel tears brimming in his eyes but he held them back, sucking in a sharp breath. “I didn’t understand immediately what had happened and the pain was too much but I can still see clearly the hatred on Richard’s face, and the smoke coming out of his rifle. He said something about taking the matter in his own hands because the army wasn’t doing anything to get rid of degenerates like me, but I was too dizzy to remember his exact words.”

Magnus gasped quietly, the anger now pregnant on his features.

“The only reason why I am still alive is because not all the men in the unit had gone along with the mutiny he had planned,” Alec said somberly. “There wasn’t much they could do, however. I think they were too scared of the consequences, for me as much as for them. They all went along with Richard’s story that I had been shot by a rebel during a routine mission. I woke up in the hospital two days later and I was told I was being sent back to England and that I couldn’t serve anymore. I never saw Richard again.”

“Where is he now?” Magnus inquired in a low voice, a dark, dangerous spark in his gaze. “I’d love to pay him a visit.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of Alec’s lips. “He’s dead,” he said. “He was actually killed on a mission two weeks later.”

“It seems too sweet of an end for him,” Magnus replied.

Alec shrugged. “The result is the same,” he muttered. “He’s dead and I’m…”

He sighed, gesturing vaguely to his leg. He inhaled sharply, finding Magnus’ eyes again. There were shining with an anger Alec had never thought he would see there.

Alec chewed on his bottom lip, absently rubbing his thumb on the empty spot on Magnus’ ring finger. “So… If I push you away, it’s not because I don’t want this,” he murmured, gritting his teeth. “It’s because I know better than anyone how dangerous it can be, and I don’t think I could go through it again.”

Magnus’ brows dipped into a frown. “Alexander,” he breathed out, hurt flashing in his deep brown eyes. “You must know… Surely, you must know I would never -”

“I know,” Alec said at once. “Magnus, I know. It’s not you I’m afraid of. It’s… everything else. The consequences, the danger, the -”

Magnus hushed him quietly, and Alec closed his mouth abruptly, wondering if Magnus could hear his heart pounding in his chest as clearly as Alec did.

“I understand,” Magnus said, reaching out with his free hand to gently push away the loose strand of hair that had fallen on Alec’s forehead. “Fear is a powerful thing, Alexander, especially when it comes from the kind of experience you’ve had.”

Tears prickled in his eyes, and Alec sucked in a deep breath, trying to rule them in. Words came to his mind, words of gratitude and praise, confessions he couldn’t whisper in church without the threat of hell in this life and the following ones hanging over his head.

Words didn’t come, and Magnus didn’t seem to find them any more than Alec could. He tugged him against his chest instead, wrapping his arms around him, and Alec all but melted, burying his head in his neck, breathing in the now familiar scent of citrus and books that belonged to Magnus only.

Alec lost himself in the warmth of Magnus’ body against his own, in the feeling of the fingers stroking at the nape of his neck, in the peace that surrounded him whenever Magnus was close and the comfort his presence alone managed to compel.

Magnus drew back, thumb brushing against the stubble on Alec’s jaw.

A smile painted his mouth, equally tender and sad.

“ _Come to me in my dreams,_ ” he muttered, his lips curling on the words.

How Alec wanted to kiss them, to forget about his fears, about the cruelty the world reserved to people like them.

“ _And then by day I shall be well again,_ ” he murmured instead.

Magnus smiled again, and it wasn’t any more relieved. He pressed a tender kiss to Alec’s cheek, resting his forehead against Alec’s temple, his warm breath brushing against his skin and sending shivers down his spine.

_For then the night will more than pay_

_The hopeless longing of the day._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on tumblr [@lecrit](http://lecrit.tumblr.com/) and on twitter [@_L_ecrit](https://twitter.com/_L_ecrit).
> 
> The poems in this chapter are, in the right order:  
> \- Sonnet 97: How like a winter hath my absence been by William Shakespeare  
> \- The Buried Life by Matthew Arnold  
> \- Longing by Matthew Arnold
> 
> The next chapter will most likely take longer to arrive because I have two exams coming up next week but if you're lucky, it could be up next week-end. Stay tuned for cookies.
> 
> One last time: happy birthday, Suhasini. Love (hate) you babe. And happy birthday Lion, I hope you enjoyed the angst. 
> 
> ❤
> 
> All the love,  
> Lu.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi cupcakes,
> 
> Rating changed. 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> #lecrit to live-tweet

Alec pushed a piece of pudding on his plate, forcing himself to focus on the discussion that was happening around him, but he had lost interest long ago.

It was the day after Christmas and he was having dinner with the Branwells. Lydia and her father had been discussing politics for the past hour and he would have normally partook in the conversation but his mind was elsewhere, like it often was these days.

Dinner had been delicious but it missed the warmth in comparison to the one he had shared two nights before with his siblings, Simon, Magnus, Raphael, Luke, and Maia. The night had been joyful, filled with laughter and cheer, and for a time, Alec had been able to forget about the constant clutch on his heart that followed him everywhere.

It was back now as he absently watched his fiancée comment on the latest news from the royal family. He had never been more aware of the inevitability of his situation than he was now ever since Magnus had walked into his life and crushed without so much as an effort the impenetrable walls he had built around his heart.

Lydia was everything a man of his generation should have looked for in a woman. She was intelligent, beautiful, kind and came from a wealthy and noble family. Her parents bore the same kindness and her father’s job as an estate agent for the upscale people of London had given him the connections Alec’s family needed to see their own business blossom even further. She got along with his siblings wonderfully, and Alec’s parents absolutely adored her.

“Alec?” she called out softly from the other side of the table.

Alec blinked out of his daze, settling his gaze on her. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m a bit tired from all the celebrations. You were saying?”

Lydia’s father, Charles, laughed heartily, leaning on the table to pat his shoulders. “Don’t worry, Son,” he exclaimed with a wide grin. “We have done nothing but eat for three days, so I understand you fully. I was asking Lydia if the two of you had finally agreed on a date for the wedding.”

Alec compelled himself to keep his face from showing the sorrow that the mere prospect was filling his heart with and glanced at Lydia. She was perfect in every way, but she never did make Alec’s heart flutter in his chest, for that was an accomplishment only Magnus could pride himself in achieving.

Still, Alec reminded himself constantly that it could have been worse. As of now, he didn’t know how he would manage to drive himself to do what was expected of him: to get married, start a family with her and have children that would have her deep blue eyes and his ebony hair. At least he considered her a friend, and it was better than being betrothed to a complete stranger.

He could picture his life with her. They would get married, move out to a house Lydia’s father would have found for them in London and work for their parents. They would wait a few months before they had children, perhaps a couple of years because Alec thought he needed at least that to wrap his mind around the idea of sharing a bed with her in the most intimate sense of the saying. Alec would make sure she was happy, and he would pretend to be as well. It was an art he had mastered, after all.

He would forget about Magnus, because it was his duty, and there was no solace for them in this world. He would live on as it went, forever ignorant to the feeling of Magnus’ lips against his own, of how empowering being loved and loving in return truly was. With time, perhaps he would even forget how breathtaking Magnus’ eyes were when they shone under the single light of the fire burning in the study and how his smile had managed to make Alec feel like he could achieve the impossible after all.

Alec cleared his throat and plastered a smile on his face, pushing the somber thoughts away.

“Not yet,” he said. “With my parents being away and me taking over the business here, I’m afraid I haven’t had the time to think about it, but I am sure I will agree with whatever Lydia decides.”

“That’s the secret of a happy marriage,” Charles replied, before letting out a loud laugh that Alec forced himself to share.

“I was thinking about a spring wedding,” Lydia said, her blue eyes boring into Alec’s. “Will Magnus be there?”

Alec digged his nails in his knee, hard enough so that the pain could balance the one that held a merciless grip on his heart.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I haven’t asked him yet.”

“Is that your writer friend?” Charles asked, taking a sip of his wine. “The one who is looking for a house?”

Alec stilled, his whole body frozen in shock. “I-I beg your pardon?”

“Magnus Bane?” Charles inquired, casting a curious look at his daughter, who gave him a quick nod. “He was here last week when Lydia and her friends held their meeting for women’s rights and when I told him I was an estate agent, he told me he was actually looking for a house himself and asked if I could help him.”

“Oh,” Alec breathed out, unable to form a coherent sentence.

Magnus was leaving.

Alec had known this day would come but somehow, it had ceased to be a reality at some point. He had grown so accustomed to his presence in the mansion, to the smell of citrus lingering after him, to his laughter when Max told him what was an exciting tale to his young mind only, to the sound of he and Raphael bickering first thing in the morning. Magnus had left his mark everywhere, and Alec couldn’t even step into the study and remember a time when it had been his safe haven rather than his and Magnus’.

It felt like a dagger plunged into his beating heart, what little hope he had left devoured by the darkness he was condemned to.

Magnus was leaving, and he hadn’t told Alec.

Magnus was leaving, and Alec couldn’t breathe.

“I’m sorry,” Charles said with a puzzled frown. “I thought you knew.”

“I did,” Alec retorted in a heartbeat, his fingers trembling against his knees. “Of course I did.” He smiled, gave his future father-in-law a quick nod. “I just didn’t know Magnus had talked to you about it, but I am glad he did. I know you will find him the best deal.”

Charles’ eternal grin broadened, and Alec wondered if anyone could surmise the utter devastation that was slowly taking over all his senses.

“Of course I will, Son!” he exclaimed. “Any friend of yours is a friend of mine and I know how to treat my friends.”

Alec nodded in what he hoped could pass as gratitude, settling his napkin back on the table.

“I apologize but I think I have to cut our evening short,” he said, fighting against his own instincts to keep his chin up and his face unreadable. “I feel a bit sick and I wouldn’t want to ruin the night with a foul mood.”

Lydia’s brows furrowed in concern and she reached out across the table. Alec gulped and obliged, slipping his hand into hers.

“Oh, dear,” she gasped. “Your hands are shaking.”

Alec licked his lips, gently pulling his hand back. “Yes, I should go home and get some rest,” he said, grabbing his cane that he had left leaning against the table and rising to his feet. “Thank you for the dinner, it was delicious.”

He paid his goodbyes and let Lydia walk him back to the front door.

She laid a hand on his shoulder, worry written plainly on her features, but she didn’t say a word and for that Alec was grateful, for he wasn’t sure he could have said anything without letting his true feelings come out.

Magnus was leaving, and there was nothing else he could think of, the bitterness rising like bile in his mouth and numbing his whole body.

“Are you going to be okay?” she asked, concern layering her tone.

Alec didn’t reply, couldn’t find an answer that wouldn’t be yet another lie so he simply gave her a quick nod. Lydia didn’t pry further but she pursed her lips, sighing.

They found Meliorn waiting in the foyer, chatting with a man Alec had never seen before. He was slightly smaller than Meliorn, with dark skin and clear, grey eyes that shone with permanent glee.

They both straightened up on their feet as Alec and Lydia approached.

“I don’t think you’ve met our new groundskeeper,” Lydia told him as they stopped in front of them, gesturing to the stranger. “This is John. John, this is Alec Lightwood, my fiancé.”

John’s eyes softened as they settled on Lydia, before focusing on Alec. He held out a hand, a warm smile on his lips. “Pleasure to finally meet you, Sir,” he said.

He spoke with a foreign accent, something definitely latin but that Alec couldn’t quite pinpoint. He probably could have had he been able to truly focus.

Alec shook his hand. “Likewise,” he said.

“Are we leaving already?” Meliorn asked, lifting an eyebrow.

Alec tightened his hold on his cane’s knob. “Yes,” he simply said, and Meliorn moved at once to fetch his coat.

Alec was left standing between John and Lydia, whose cheeks had taken a pink color that contrasted with her usually pale skin. The silence was a bit uncomfortable, but Alec had no care to break it. His every thought solely focused on the news he had just learned, his stomach lurching more every second that passed and the knowledge that Magnus had decided to leave the mansion without telling Alec a word of it dawned on him.

Thankfully, Meliorn was back in a matter of minutes and they bid Lydia and John good night before walking outside to the carriage.

It was already late. Night fell fast at this time of the year. When Alec had arrived hours ago, the sky had been painted with hues of red, orange and pink, but it was now an obscure black canvas with no stars to be looked upon.

The carriage advanced in the darkness, the path barely lit by the street lamps through the mist. Alec could not surmise a thing through the window. He wasn’t sure he would have even seen his own hand had he extended an arm outside the vehicle.

Inside, he was protected from the chill of the wind’s harsh bite, but still he felt relentlessly cold.

He wasn’t sure what to do of what he had learned. Magnus had every right to leave, had always been meant to leave at some point, but it felt too early, and Alec realized, sorrow clutching at his heart, that there would never be a time when he would be willing to let him go.

His feelings for Magnus were wrong in the eyes of the law, even more so in the eyes of the Church, and he had resigned himself to the fact that they would ever remain an abstract concept, a delusion of his romantic spirit.

Magnus leaving would make it easier for him to regain the self-control he had let slip through ushered whispers and careful touches.

And yet, there was no place for rationality in his mind right then.

The dagger was still there, twisting in his guts, ripping at his heart.

The pain alone was suffocating.

Alec startled when the carriage came to an abrupt stop. Lost in his thoughts, he hadn’t realized that they were already home.

He stepped out carefully and inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the fresh air of winter, listening to the wind weeping for his broken illusions.

Meliorn gave him a stern nod and guided the carriage back to the stable. All the lights of the mansion were out and Alec walked inside, taking in the emptiness the walls seemed to hold in that moment.

He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep, no more than he had felt the need to eat when sitting with the Branwells. His steps guided him naturally to the study. It was silly, perhaps, but he needed to see if Magnus had moved a pawn on the chessboard, to see if their game was still on or if he had given up on it altogether as he had taken the decision to put an end to their ordeal.

It was late. The whole mansion was asleep, so Alec didn’t expect to walk into Magnus, no more than he expected the dagger to dig deeper against his lungs at the sight of him, sitting in the armchair by the window, writing in his notebook. He was wearing a grey shirt with a dark red waistcoat embroidered with gold, and his hair was falling limply on his forehead the way it always did after a long night.

Alec couldn’t find a word to do him justice, and his whole body trembled with anger.

Magnus was his only crime and his only surcease all at once, and he was leaving.

Clenching his teeth, Alec shut the door being him, seething.

Magnus sent him one of his sweet, contagious smiles and it only served to make him angrier.

“Good evening, Alexander,” he said. “How was your dinner?”

He sounded almost cheerful, and Alec took a cautious step closer, searching Magnus’ face for a trace of regret, a hint that his heart was as shattered as Alec’s own, but found none.

“Did you ask Lydia’s father to help you find a house?” he asked in a whisper.

Surprise settled on his features and Magnus’ lips parted slowly. He closed his notebook, crossing his legs, and quickly composed himself, levelling him with an impassible look.

“Yes.”

“Did you find one?” Alec muttered, but in the morose silence of the room, Magnus had no choice but to hear him.

“Not yet.”

Alec swallowed, his fingers trembling with wrath, although he wasn’t sure it was aimed at Magnus more than it was at the unfairness of the world.

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

Magnus’ jaw flexed slightly, the only sign of discomfort he allowed himself to display.

“Not before I had found it,” he said.

“Why?”

Magnus’ fingers danced pointlessly towards Alec before he brought them to his face, skimming over his goatee. He shut his eyes, sucking in a deep breath before averting them back to Alec.

“Because I knew I would change my mind the moment you gave me that look,” he said, his voice barely over a whisper.

Alec pushed his palms against his eyes, heaving. There were too many emotions fighting in his mind, each of them striving for dominance. The anger was welling up, still, but it was mixed with a smothering sadness.

“You should have told me,” he said, the words rushing out of his mouth before he could take them back. “I had to hear it from Lydia’s father, Magnus! Y-You can’t just decide to leave and not tell me! This isn’t fair!”

Magnus rose to his feet to face him, although he stayed at the other side of the room. “You had to hear it from your _fiancée’s_ father, yes,” he gritted out slowly, measuring every word, his eyes hardening on Alec. “Who isn’t it fair to, exactly?”

“This is not what this is about,” Alec snapped.

“Isn’t it?” Magnus retorted. His voice was cold, his tone harsh but never cruel. “You know I don’t want to leave, Alec. I’m happy here. But I was never meant to stay here forever, and we both know it is a matter of time before the danger becomes more than just words thrown into the air. It’s not fair to either of us, but it was never going to be.”

“You can’t leave,” Alec said stubbornly, shaking his head. “Y-You can’t. I don’t- I can’t-”

He stopped himself abruptly, unable to finish his sentence.

“There is no happy ending to this story, Magnus,” he sighed, defeat and frustration edging every word.

Magnus’ breath hitched and his hand moved towards Alec but fell back at his side almost immediately. He had dropped the mask by then, his eyes open for Alec to read, anguish vacillating in them, meddling with a hint of hope that he was so clearly attempting to fight.

“This is why I have to leave,” he murmured, sniffing quietly as he looked away. “You know it’s for the best, Alec. I can’t stay here and watch you be miserable over something that never existed. If I believed it could, if only for a single moment, leaving would be impossible.”

The anger boiled in Alec’s veins again, cold and untamable. It seeped through his blood and travelled all the way to his heart, blinding him to the rest of the world. He couldn’t look at Magnus, because he knew he would see a part of his soul mirrored in his brown eyes and that was more than he could take. Magnus was beautiful and raw, and more real than all the words that filled the bookcases of the study.

The world around him had vanished into darkness, darker from Magnus’ absence even though he wasn’t even gone yet, loneliness creeping through his bones and wrapping around his lungs, clutching around his heart.

“You have to stop,” Alec gritted out through clenched teeth. “I can’t do this with you being… I can’t. Please, stop.”

Magnus took a cautious step forward. “I’m not doing anything,” he replied softly, brows furrowed in confusion.

If he focused enough, Alec could almost feel the warmth of his body even from the distance between them, and it was both too much and not enough.

“You’re always doing something,” Alec retorted, balling his fist to resist the urge to grab Magnus’ waist and tug him against his chest. His body was tingling, unable to feel at rest for as long as Alec would refuse to simply reach out and touch the man in front of him. “You’re always doing something to me.”

“I-” Magnus whispered, but stopped himself with a shake of his head. “I’m sorry.”

Alec wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for exactly, if it was for the decision he had made or for the situation they had found themselves in. Falling for Magnus had been easy, his heart grasped by the vibrant colors of the man that surpassed even the breathtaking landscape painted by the estate in the peak of fall.

To Alec, it seemed like it had happened in a matter of minutes, perhaps even seconds, because he could recall distinctly how mesmerized he had been from the moment Magnus had stepped down from the carriage that had brought him here, wearing a grey suit, a fancy top hat and a magnificent smile that would have made him stand out in any crowd.

Perhaps Magnus was apologizing for how effortlessly he had made Alec fall in love with him. Perhaps he knew already that is was both hopeless and irremediable.

“I-I can’t do this,” Alec choked out, forcing the air out of his lungs.

He stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him and sucked in a deep breath. Shutting his eyes, he leaned against the wall.

He had been so close from caving so many times, from touching with the tip of his fingers the freedom love could bring, and it was already ending, violently.

The law was hard for people like them, and he couldn’t quite comprehend how it could condemn so brutally something that had felt so pure to him, something that brought back peace to his heart even though he had long given up on it.

How could they claim as wrong what had felt so utterly and absolutely right?

Alec had followed all the rules. He had listened to his parents. He had proposed to a woman. He had fought for his country. And all had left him miserable, because there was no way he could win against an invisible enemy, even more so when that enemy was himself.

And perhaps there was another way to fight.

“Fuck,” Alec murmured under his breath and promptly pushed off the wall to storm back in the study.

Magnus hadn’t moved, still standing near the armchair, arms falling limply at his side, eyes wet with unshed tears, but he startled, confusion and weariness flashing in his gaze as it found Alec’s.

Alec pushed the door close and strode his way to Magnus, cupping his face between trembling hands.

“I don’t want you to stop,” Alec said, his voice hoarse to his own ears.

Alec felt Magnus’ breath stutter beneath his touch. “I don’t want to stop,” Magnus muttered, reaching out to cup his cheek in his hand, his thumb brushing against his cheekbone tenderly, kindling a fire in Alec’s soul. “And I don’t want you to stop either.”

Alec heaved out a relieved breath, heart rummaging in his chest, and the world fell away as their mouths found each other.

Before he could let his mind lose itself and be gone for good, Magnus’ arms were around him, tethering him on his way back from the darkness. He felt helpless again, but this time he yielded without a fight, sinking into the warmth of Magnus’ embrace, the rest of the world, his fears and the perilous consequences blurring into nothingness.

Magnus’ lips were soft against his own, but his grip almost bruising in his desperation, and it was only when Magnus gasped, pulling back for air, that Alec realized he was holding on to him just as tightly, his hand having glided its way to Magnus’ hair.

“We can’t,” Alec whispered against his lips, panting.

“I know,” Magnus replied. His breath was warm and tinted with the whiskey they both favored as it crashed against Alec’s mouth, sending a shiver down his spine.

“Don’t go,” Alec pleaded, tightening his hold on Magnus’ waist, his other hand drifting down to play with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“I don’t want to,” Magnus pledged, and he kissed him again.

Alec drowned in the heat of his body, abandoning himself to it wholly. His heart drummed in his chest, tuning in with Magnus’. The mansion could have burned to the ground around them and he wouldn’t have cared.

He was tasting freedom through Magnus’ lips, conscious now more than ever of the fire that inhabited him, of what life could be when he didn’t have to hide between the walls he had so carefully built and that Magnus had ravaged with a smile.

Alec felt his back hit against a hard surface - a bookcase, he realized in a distant corner of his mind - and he pressed himself firmly against Magnus’ body.

His head was swirling, a welcome dizziness he gladly surrendered to.

If giving away his soul was the price to pay to stay in Magnus’ arms forever, Alec was willing to endure hell in life and in the afterlife without a second thought.

With tentative fingers, he reached under Magnus’ shirt. The tight waistcoat didn’t allow him much liberty, but he felt the burning skin under his touch nonetheless, and his own body caught fire.

His hands fiddled shakily with the buttons of Magnus’ waistcoat, his actions only driven by a sheer sense of desire, but Magnus pulled back.

Alec whined in protest, but fell back on his heels as Magnus laid a hand on his chest, and he took a minute to simply look at him instead. His swollen lips were shiny, his chin a bit red from scratching against Alec’s stubble. His hair was a mess and his eyes half-closed, his pupils dilated enough that the golden sparks had almost completely vanished, replaced by a dark, primal need that Alec was sure to be mirrored in his own. Alec couldn’t help but feel pride flutter in his chest at the knowledge that Magnus looked just as wrecked as he felt.

Somehow, however, Magnus seemed to find the strength to overpower it.

“Alexander,” he whispered, and his name sounded like a sacred thing through his staggered pants. His thumb stroked Alec’s bottom lip reverently as he sucked in a deep breath. “Is this really what you want?”

“What I want and what I yearn,” Alec answered in a heartbeat.

Magnus gasped quietly, his eyes shining a mixture of unabashed affection and surprise for a second, and Alec wondered if Magnus would ever stop looking so amazed by the truths he so easily confided in him.

“Have you ever -”

“No,” Alec said, “not like that. But with you, I want to.” He paused, took a deep breath to assuage the desperation and need running through his body before asking, “Is this what _you_ want?”

“I don’t recall ever wanting anything more than I want you, darling,” Magnus whispered.

“Then have me,” Alec offered. “I need you,” he added in a broken whisper, another confession for the night to witness.

Their mouths met again in a bruising kiss and it took little time for things to escalate from there, for their clothes to be peeled off, for naked skin to be explored and tongues to meet in a maddeningly sensual dance.

“My god, you’re beautiful,” Alec whispered when he had managed to discard the last piece of Magnus’ clothing, only vaguely recognizing his own voice.

Magnus chuckled, gently tugging on Alec’s waist to turn him around, his hands roaming over his skin like he was a precious thing. Alec grabbed the bookcase almost automatically. Magnus’ lips latched onto his neck, before travelling lower, on his shoulders, down his spine.

“Trust me,” he all but purred, nipping at Alec’s hipbone, and Alec brought his fist to his mouth to muffle a moan, “He has nothing to do with it.”

Alec tried to speak several times but his ability to do so disappeared with the first touch of Magnus’ tongue against his hole and then there was nothing but this, and Alec fell into an ecstatic felicity, relinquishing in the power he had handled to Magnus, the trust he had placed in him facilely.

When he found himself speaking again, it was only to utter Magnus’ name, the way he would have uttered poetry, with admiration and adoration, and an inherent sense of passion and adventure that always accompanied the discovery of a peculiar lyricism.

Alec gasped sharply as Magnus entered him and he pushed into his touch, ripping wanton moans from the both of them, but Magnus dipped his head and captured his mouth in a slow, lewd kiss that made the sting of pain trivial.

“More,” he heaved against Magnus, one hand gripping the bookcase tightly while the other descended to tangle their fingers together over his hip.

Magnus’ hips twitched forward in a long, smooth thrust, settling in a voluptuous rhythm, and Alec tipped his head back, entirely caught up in the sensations flowing his body, lost in them all, in Magnus, in his fingers wrapping around him and mimicking the steady movements of his hips.

Alec came right before Magnus did, his moan muffled by his own hand, and Magnus collapsed against his back, panting.

When they caught their breath again, Alec turned to face him and kissed his swollen lips, laying a hand over Magnus’ heart.

“I don’t care about the law,” he murmured. “I need you.”

He felt Magnus’ heart skip a beat in his chest.

“ _Men could not part us with their worldly jars,_ ” he whispered, a tired smile tugging at his lips as he kissed Alec again. “ _Nor the seas change us, nor the tempests bend._ ”

Alec smiled back.

So, that was what the poems were about. He had admired them before, had drowned into the beauty of the words.

Now, however, he could _understand_ them, and his heart seemed to scream the following lines before they passed his lips.

“ _Our hands would touch for all the mountain-bars, And, heaven being rolled between us at the end, We should but vow the faster for the stars._ ”

Magnus tucked his head against his neck, wrapping his arms around Alec’s waist, and Alec leaned into him.

His leg didn’t hurt anymore, no more than his heart did.

.

Magnus awoke to an encompassing and overwhelming sense of peace.

Stretching lazily, he glanced to the side at the window. Snow was blowing down heavily, silencing the rest of the world. The sky was closed with white and gray clouds that reflected into the blanket that had been covering the estate for the past days.

A new year was about to spring, and Magnus hoped secretly that perhaps 1892 would bring the changes the century so desperately needed.

The last time he had seen that much snow had been in New York. A storm had hit the city, and he remembered distinctly being forced to stay inside in his luxurious house for a couple of days, all the while knowing his wife had brought a guest over and that he would have to suffer his presence in silence, feeling like the cuckold of the kind of comedies he had used to laugh at.

It seemed like a long while ago, now that he thought about it, but it had only been a year.

If he had been told at the time that he would be living in London in a year’s time, and that his heart would open up again to let itself be filled with the breathtaking thrill of love, he would have laughed, too.

Now, all he could do was smile, the memory of Alec’s hazel eyes shining with a blithe spark as he had kissed him good night what was only a few hours before implemented into his mind like a blissful dream.

The thought made him frown, and sit hastily in his bed.

What if it had all been a dream, a complex construction of his own mind to ease the tribulations of his eternally hopeless heart?

He had drunk whiskey the night before, unable to think about anything else but Alec having dinner with people he would soon call his family, unwilling to let his heart find respite for he knew it was bound to be broken.

It could not possibly be real. He had felt it so strongly, the connection between them. He had felt so utterly and completely intoxicated that he wasn’t so sure it had truly happened after all.

A soft knock at the door tore him out of the sudden dread that had seeped into his bones and through his veins and he rubbed his eyes, clearing his head of his bleak thoughts.

Shuffling out of bed, he grabbed his woolen robe and wrapped it around his shoulders before walking to the door.

He blinked at the sight of Alec standing there. He was already dressed and ready to face the day, and he looking as dashingly handsome as ever but for the small bags under his eyes that were the only signs of a tiredness he had learned to conceal in the same way he hid the true calling of his heart.

“Good morning,” he said with a bashful smile.

Magnus arched a brow, his mouth dry. “Hi.”

“Can I come in?” Alec asked, tilting his head to murmur. “I brought you breakfast.”

Magnus had been so captivated by the sheer reverence in his eyes that he hadn’t noticed the tray in his hands.

Clearing his throat, he pushed the door open completely, gesturing for Alec to come in before he shut it behind him.

Alec went straight to the vanity that stood opposite the bed to put the tray there, and Magnus watched him move, mesmerized. It had been weeks since he had last seen Alec walk without his cane - although a slight limp was still there, and Magnus wondered what it was the reminiscence of exactly, pondering that it hadn’t all been a dream after all.

“Did you steal these from the kitchen?” Magnus asked, for lack of anything better, waving vaguely at the bread and jam. Words were failing him, and never had he felt as inarticulate, or ineloquent, as inapt at speaking what was truly swirling in his mind. “Because we both know Simon will realize immediately and I will have to endure an hour of him trying to figure out if I stole these because I don’t like the way he cooks my eggs. The boy is -”

The rest of his sentence was muffled by Alec’s lips crashing against his own, his hands framing Magnus’ head in an soft, delicate caress that made his heart stagger in his chest. Moaning against his mouth, Magnus slid a hand to his chest, the other one holding on to Alec’s waist, and he kissed back, content to let himself get lost in Alec’s embrace, in the taste of his lips against his own, in the touch he had been craving for too long.

This was real. He could feel Alec’s heart thump beneath his fingertips, and the raw scratch of his scruff against his chin. It was real, in the same way the snow falling outside was real, in the same way freedom was when it laid in wildness, in the boldness of a forbidden passion winning over the grievous laws of their times.

Still, Magnus drew back, carefully pushing on Alec’s chest.

Their lips parted, but Alec didn’t step back, his hands slipping to Magnus’ neck, thumb trailing on the sharp line of his jaw.

“I told Simon that we ran into each other last night when I came home and that you weren’t feeling too well so you should be left alone for the morning and that I’d bring you breakfast myself and keep you company if you so desired.”

Alec said it all in a breath, eyes and lips shining.

Magnus’ brows dipped into a frown. “And he simply let you go? That doesn’t sound like Simon.”

Alec huffed out a quiet laugh. “Well, he asked a lot of questions. He was worried, I suppose. Somehow, the words ‘Magnus isn’t feeling well’ seemed to translate to ‘Magnus is on his deathbed’ in his mind.”

Magnus chuckled, rolling his eyes. “That _does_ sound like Simon.”

Alec smiled, taking a step back. Magnus instantly missed the warmth of his touch. “So,” Alec said, clearing his throat, “do you want me to keep you company?”

Magnus hummed, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I don’t know, Captain Lightwood,” he murmured playfully, knotting his fingers in Alec’s jacket to pull him back against him. “How do you suggest we work on making myself feel better?”

Alec smiled, a lopsided grin that made his eyes crinkle at the corners and Magnus’ heart stutter in his chest. “I will try to think of something,” he whispered.

Magnus laid a hand on his chest, but this time it wasn’t to push him back but merely to feel the drumming of his heart beneath his touch, and the excitement crawling under his skin the same way it did under his own.

He kissed Alec’s smile with a smile of his own, hooking his fingers in his shirt to drag him backwards towards the bed.

It was all real, and for now, nothing else truly mattered.

.

Magnus reverently stroked his fingers along Alec’s own, tracing them all one by one before travelling up to his arm and down again to his shoulder and his chest before laying his palm against his hipbone. His cheek pressed against Alec’s shoulder, his body wrapped in silken sheets, he felt like he had toppled into another reality, where his body could rest, enveloped in a billowing cloud, and his heart could dream of a better world.

Alec had succumbed to the call of sleep, and although his slumber had been agitated at first, he had soon relaxed under Magnus’ wandering fingers. He hadn’t been able to stop, because as long as he could touch Alec, he knew it was real and as long as he knew it was real, he could allow himself to hope, to let the brightness fill his inner self and murmur words to him he had long ceased to listen to.

He had no regrets - how could he, when he had so desperately longed to share with Alec that very dream? But the fear was still gnawing at his mind, that their dream would shatter against the ruthless bidding of the law, and remain forever just that - a dream, a forlorn hope.

_O God! can I not save_

_One from the pitiless wave?_

_Is all that we see or seem_

_But a dream within a dream?_

Was it all they were allowed to hope for?

Was it all he had to offer, the prospect of broken hearts and crushed delusions?

Alec’s lips ghosted against his forehead, his nose burying in Magnus’ hair.

“Penny for your thoughts?

His voice was hoarse, lingering with the reminiscence of sleep, but still flagged with concern.

Magnus couldn’t help but to smile, the smile of a man who was doomed and knew it too well. “I’m worried,” he admitted.

Alec’s hand carded through his hair and he picked a loose strand to twirl around his finger. “So am I,” he murmured. “But I-” He paused, and Magnus felt his chest shiver as it rose with a laborious breath. “I don’t mind lying to the world if it means I can be honest with you.”

And Magnus had spent years perfecting his mask, polishing his feelings to please Camille, to please his friends, to please the world, keeping a hold on his emotions and the walls around his heart strong and insurmountable.

He had lied for his own survival, he had lied for the sake of lying, he had lied because it had become a game to see how far he could take it. He had lied, relentlessly, until he couldn’t distinguish the truth from the image people wanted to see of him.

He had lied, until London. Until Alec.

So he sighed, pressing a soft kiss against Alec’s shoulder, and he let himself thrive in the honesty of a statement that he had uttered like it was a simple thing, but held devastation in its complexity.

“We need to discuss a story in case we ever get arrested,” Magnus said, softly.

Alec hummed gravely, his lips shifting against Magnus’ temple. “Let’s just blame it all on Blake and Wordsworth,” he muttered playfully.

And Magnus laughed, quiet and gentle, but a laugh that seemed to ignite brightness in his whole being.

“I say we blame it on Henley,” he replied.

“Henley?” Alec echoed, shuffling to lay on his side and face Magnus, arching a puzzled eyebrow.

“ _It matters not how strait the gate_ ,” Magnus recited, lifting a hand to slip it through Alec’s tousled hair. “ _How charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul._ ”

Alec smiled, and kissed him.

“Henley’s fault it is.”

.

Through the first week of January, they developed a pattern. They knew - or suspected, at the very least - that no one in the mansion would ever denounce them, or even chastise them, no more than Luke and Maia. But the logic was simple, and quite irrefutable: the more people who knew, the higher the risks of getting caught.

Winter helped, in a way. It was cold enough by then that no one questioned them if they spent day after day locked in the study. It made their nights easier. Magnus didn’t have to sneak his way to Alec’s room because everyone was already long asleep by the time they went to bed, and he was already gone and back to his own room when Alec woke up.

Alec would have liked to see what Magnus looked like first thing in the morning, if only to know if all his glory remained even when slumber still lingered in his bones. He wanted to feel his heart flutter in his chest at dawn the same way it did all day long when they shared casual touches and small, conniving smiles that felt intimate solely because they were shared with Magnus.

It was another of those things Alec would have to learn to live without but he could allow it as long as they could be together behind closed doors, as long as he knew how Magnus’ skin could burn beneath his fingertips and how his sated smiles made the softness of his eyes find tether in Alec’s heart.

He could endure it as long as it meant he could be gifted with the sound of Magnus stifling a laugh in the middle of the night as he buried his nose in Alec’s neck.

“I don’t believe you,” Magnus snickered, his warm breath sending a wave of shivers rushing through Alec’s exerted body, his shoulders shaking slightly with laughter.

They were lying in Alec’s bed, bodies and souls tangled tightly enough that it was impossible to know where one started and the other ended.

Alec grinned against Magnus’ hair, fingers trailing along his naked back. “Are you calling me a liar, Mr. Bane?” he murmured in faux affront.

“I simply have trouble believing that Jace vomited in Her Majesty’s palace.”

Alec shrugged. “But he did,” he said, an amused smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “That’s how we discovered he was allergic to seafood.”

Magnus chuckled again. “What were you even doing at Buckingham Palace?” he inquired. “Does the Queen have business with your parents?”

Alec arched an eyebrow, shuffling away so he gazed in Magnus’ eyes without entangling their bodies. “No, it was her coronation anniversary dinner. Every aristocrat in the country is required to attend.”

“Aristocrat?” Magnus echoed, his nose scrunching in confusion. “Are you British nobility?”

Alec frowned. “I thought you knew,” he said. “My father is a Viscount. I was supposed to marry the daughter of some Marquess in the upper country. That’s why I proposed to Lydia. My parents were going to marry me anyway. I figured if I proposed to my childhood friend, at least it would stay a little bit my choice, and it wouldn’t be so bad. My parents were not happy about it but they couldn’t stop it without vexing Lydia’s father, and he’s one of their most prominent business partners.”

Magnus’ eyes flashed with resignation the way they always did when Alec’s upcoming wedding was brought up.

“Does she know? Lydia?”

Alec shook his head. “No one does apart from my siblings and Maia. And I’m pretty sure Luke does, too. They don’t know about us, though.”

Magnus hummed pensively and reached up to card his fingers through Alec’s hair, pushing away the loose strands that had fallen on his forehead.

The look on his face made Alec’s skin tingle, warmth pooling in his stomach. It was a look he had seen before, and that he was starting to get accustomed to, a look of profound affection, nuanced by a slight despair and unwavering loyalty.

“I know I’m being selfish,” Alec murmured, swallowing hard, and lowered his gaze to Magnus’ naked chest. “I shouldn’t have asked you to stay.”

“Alexander -”

Alec shook his head again, chewing on his bottom lip. “I looked for you for so long, Magnus.”

 _“I can’t let you go”_ was at the tip of his tongue but he didn’t allow the words to come out and fill the gap that still remained between them despite it all, spawned by the fear that alimented the desperation their embraces always held.

Magnus cupped his cheek in his hand and leaned in to kiss the dimple on Alec’s nose. “Then don’t stop looking for me, even on stormy days,” he said, voice smooth like a summer breeze. “And I will ensure I don’t lose again what you gave me back. If I want to leave, I will. Right now, I’m exactly where I want to be.”

Alec smiled, a promise of its own, and kissed him, long and passionate and utterly insane, but if his mind was possessed, it was by Magnus only, and his heart thrived in the palm of his ring-clad hands.

All was well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poems in this chapter are, in the right order:  
> \- Sonnets from the Portuguese by Elizabeth Barrett Browning  
> \- A Dream Within a Dream by Edgar Allan Poe  
> \- Invictus by William Ernest Henley
> 
> I'm on tumblr [@lecrit](http://lecrit.tumblr.com/) and on twitter [@_L_ecrit](https://twitter.com/_L_ecrit).
> 
> Until next time.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi cupcakes,
> 
> I'm still alive, so is this story, and my excuse is that 24 hours a day are not enough and writer's block is a bitch.
> 
> Happy reading!  
> And #lecrit to live-tweet as always.
> 
> Ps: there is a mention of suicide in this chapter. It is very brief but I thought I'd give a warning anyway.

_Le Palais Garnier_ in Paris was indisputably one of the most impressive pieces of architecture Magnus had seen in his lifetime. It was one of the largest and the most opulent theaters he had stepped into, with its many rooms and antechambers and subcellars. It was an extraordinary labyrinth of people and hidden passageways, a hotbed of politics and wealth, a place of art and pure beauty.

It held a rare splendor, and just walking up the grand stairway had left him as remarkably shaken than listening to Mozart’s _The Marriage of Figaro_ had. He remembered staring at the religious paintings on the ceiling in the Grand Foyer until Raphael had come to guide him to the box he had reserved for the night, mesmerized by its rare, colorful elegance.

Covent Garden’s opera house was not remotely close to the grandeur of the _Palais_ , but on the opening night, there was no more brilliant and vibrant place in the world.

Men and women were dressed in the latest fashion, and they talked mundanities, throwing compliments in the air as easily as gossip. Isabelle had hooked her arm with Magnus’, introducing him to people he would forget the name of as soon as the night was over, too entranced by the general atmosphere to truly participate in what was usually his strong suit.

Alec had disappeared somewhere with Little Max, seemingly to get him food, because the boy had complained about being hungry during the whole ride there.

They met again a few minutes before the opera was meant to start and he and Isabelle went up to their box, where Max and Alec were already seated, Alec gesturing towards the stage, as he explained something to his little brother in quiet whispers. Magnus took the seat on Alec’s other side, the closest one to the wall, and Alec gave him a quick smile, holding out a glass of red wine for him before returning his attention to Max.

Magnus leaned back in his chair and took a sip, humming in content, taking in the red velvet surrounding them. In that, it was very similar to the _Palais Garnier_ , although it lacked the gold ornaments. In all other aspects, the thing that made the experience all the more enjoyable was that the company was indisputably exceptional.

“Have you ever seen Tristan and Isolde?” Alec asked quietly as he leaned imperceptibly towards him, having abandoned his little brother to chat with their sister. His smile bore an almost juvenile excitement. His eyes were adoring as they always were when they bore into Magnus’ soul, crinkling just slightly at the corner.

“Never,” Magnus said, quite easily returning the sentiment. “Nor a Wagner piece. I have read the tale, though. Forbidden love never ends well in fiction, does it?”

He could hear the fatalism in his own voice, and he bit his bottom lip, inwardly reprimanding himself. Alec didn’t reply, gazing away as the lights started to shut off throughout the theater, plunging them into darkness.

Cold, tentative fingers brushed against Magnus’.

“In fiction,” Alec murmured softly, as hesitant as it was determined.

Music filled the air, unhurriedly, steadily, and Magnus forgot to voice an equally hopeful answer as the world around him faded away. All that remained were the violins, slowly inviting him to a new path, and he willingly let himself be transported centuries ago to a ship on the road to Cornwall.

Alec’s hand didn’t move, their knuckles grazing each other without ever touching. It made Magnus’ heart race in his chest, as surely as the soprano of Isolde. Her voice had color and passion, poignant in every note, soaring in every word, refined like the wine Alec had purchased for him. Tristan’s tenor was a perfect companion, deep and textured. Their voices melted together perfectly.

The prelude was a long succession of linked phrases, insatiable and entrancing, and Magnus lost himself to the music, and to the meaning it held to the one who dared to listen. It spoke of yearning, longing, rapture, and of the misery love could bring.

There was no mystical love potion involved in their case, but Magnus felt the desperate craving of the lovers resonate in his core all the same. By the end of the first act, it was too late for them; there was no escaping the torment of languishing they had succumbed to.

_Oh, now we were dedicated to Night!_

_Spiteful Day with ready envy_

_could part us with its tricks_

_but no longer mislead us with guile._

_Its vain glory, its flaunting display_

_are mocked by those to whom Night_

_has granted sight._

By the end of the first act, Magnus’ fingers were trembling against Alec’s, and his chest was hurting.

The second act was something of a miracle. It was meant to speak of an insubstantial dream, but Magnus felt it possessed all that concrete power his two weeks with Alec had brought him. Everything could have died, but as the star-crossed lovers of the lyric tale, the longing would survive, unquenchable. No matter how many kisses shared behind closed doors, how many embraces the night witnessed, desire forever found a way to renew itself, through private gazes and touches of skin.

Despite the prohibitions, despite the morals, Tristan and Isolde found themselves in the darkness, bound together by the night, loyal only to their own heart and each other. The love duet was devastating and sumptuous, and Alec’s fingers shifted against Magnus’ to twine them together, revelling in the obscurity of the theater that allowed them that moment just for themselves.

By the end of the second act, as Tristan fell to the ground with a devastating but perfectly pitched note, a single traitorous tear had slipped down Magnus’ cheek.

_If I am aware of myself, how impoverished I am!_

_If I have lost myself entirely, how rich I am!_

_If I die becoming blind in ecstasy;_

_if I no longer see the world,_

_then I myself am the world,_

_the most love-sacred life._

Magnus wondered whether Richard Wagner had felt the real bliss of love, and if he had, whether that love had ever been satiated. Had he ever felt that unique euphoria, that incomparable thrill of a lover’s kiss, of a mind surrendering to the only truth that could remain?

Alec’s hand had already left his own when the lights turned back on for the interlude, and Magnus stayed immobile for a long time, staring at the stage where Tristan had laid dying a moment ago. He was vaguely aware of Isabelle and Max wandering out of the box to loosen the soreness in their legs, and of Alec lingering by his side.

“You have to admit the resemblances are uncanny,” Magnus said finally, his voice strained and breathy, foreign to his own ears.

“Well, I can start singing if you need proof of the contrary,” Alec replied tentatively.

The corner of his lips twitched with a smile, and Magnus finally turned his head to face Alec, only to blink at the wetness in his eyes.

“Oh, my darling,” Magnus whispered softly, thankful for the box that kept away prying ears if not prying eyes. He would have reached out to wipe the tears away had they not been exposed.

“It is a masterpiece.”

The attempt of evading a painful talk was blatantly obvious — as obvious as it was that the tale unfolding before their eyes had struck them both with equal verve — but Magnus allowed it.

They stayed in a comfortable silence for the rest of the interlude, relishing in each other’s proximity for lack of each other’s touch.

The third act was an apotheosis, somehow equally melancholic and exultant. Isolde’s and Tristan’s themes melted flawlessly, pouring together the whole conflict between life and death that their doomed passion had brought upon them. They fell together, grace forgotten, escaping finally the illusions a cruel world had lulled them into believing and at the same time the burden of their own consciences. It illustrated the joys and pains of love with an accuracy that made Magnus’ breath hitch in his throat.

They found solace in death, but the true message was elsewhere. The only cure, then and now, was to lose yourself in an ocean - infinite and untamable - of love.

That, Magnus could do.

His sins meant little, for the salvation he seeked, he wouldn’t find in the afterlife. He had found it right there in London, without even looking, without even hoping.

That night, when he crawled into bed with Alec, long after the mansion had gone silent, Wagner’s opera still resonated through his mind. Alec enveloped him into his arms and kissed him and the music stopped so Magnus’ soul could chant a melody of its own, one only the two of them together could compose.

His heart felt lighter than it had ever been.

Free at last.

.

Getting Simon out of his kitchen was usually something of a miracle.

After breakfast, Simon usually locked himself in there for hours, experiencing on innovative meals he had gathered from the many people he had met by working in the mansion or simply from his overproductive mind.

There was the rare exception, however, of market days. He didn’t go every week, but when he did, he always left at the crack of dawn, when only Alec and Meliorn were already awake, and only came back in the late afternoon after the night had already fallen.

It was the only time when Alec, all master that he was in his parents’ absence, was allowed in the kitchen. Simon seemed to have developed a sixth sense when it came to his workplace, and no one could move the slightest item without him noticing, which resulted in long, disapproving glances for the following day - week, if the culprit happened to be Jace.

This week, however, Isabelle had gone with him, and as she tended to brighten Simon’s day with the smallest of smiles, Alec was fairly certain a full day with her would allow him to get away with sneaking Magnus in the kitchen so they could enjoy a glass of wine after lunch and enjoy the lukewarm pastries leftover from breakfast.

The combination of the red wine and the pastries wasn’t exactly ideal, but Alec had never been picky about his food or drinks - the whiskey he and Magnus both favored that he kept carefully hidden in the study apart - and the sight of Magnus moaning in delight was enough to annihilate any kind of protest from him.

“Darling, you have to taste this,” Magnus said, bringing a hand up to his mouth as he chewed.

Joy easily blossomed in the pit of Alec’s stomach, materializing in the form of a somewhat syrupy smile on his features. He reached out to grab the piece of shortcake from Magnus’ hand, only to have his own swatted away.

He pulled his hand back, his frown vanishing as soon as he caught the mischievous flicker in Magnus’ ambers.

“Please?” he grumbled, far too uninhibited to sound anything but amused.

Magnus’ grin widened as he brought the pastry up to Alec’s mouth, and Alec rolled his eyes playfully before obliging and taking a bite. It was delicious, which didn’t truly come as a surprise. Simon’s application had come with Luke’s warm recommendation and once she had tasted his food, Alec’s mother had only hesitated for a mere second before hiring him despite his young age. What made it all the more delectable, however, was undoubtedly the fact that he could share it with Magnus, just the two of them in the warmth of the kitchen.

They didn’t have many opportunities to share moments like this one outside of the study, and although it was still hidden to the eyes of the world, Alec felt somehow bold simply for their change of scenery.

It felt liberating, the way every moment he could spend alone with Magnus was.

Shaking his head, Alec picked a cannoli from the plate, presenting it to Magnus with a matching grin, and Magnus gave him a playful glance before leaning forward and biting on it. Alec couldn’t hold back the small titter bubbling in his stomach. There wasn’t even something truly funny about it, but it was rather the result of a ludicrous sense of joy that spread through him with the same ease Magnus had gotten under his skin.

It was perfect, for that short while it lasted. A creaking noise resounded behind Alec and they moved apart in a same movement. Alec tried not to let his heart thud too painfully as the dejected look on Magnus’ features, but all his resolve couldn’t have prevented it. Swallowing back a sigh, he turned around to face the intruder, fully ready to find Simon coming back from the market. Instead, his gaze settled on Lydia, her blonde hair pulled back in an intricate braid that wrapped around the back of her head.

Alec digged his nails in his palms, urging himself not to let it show on his features how utterly surprised - and scared - he truly was.

“L-Lydia,” he breathed out. Her name was a dull thing on his lips, nor would it ever be more than that. It could never compare to the way Magnus’ name rolled on his tongue, forever tinged with the reverence and respect he had earned, or whispered in his ear in the dead of night like a sacred thing - for it was.

She blinked her blue eyes at them, a soft, polite smile curling on her lips. “Hello,” she said. “Is this a bad time?”

Would there ever be a good enough time for her presence not to ignite the sorrow Alec could already feel creeping into his heart?

“Of course not, my dear,” Magnus quipped, stepping forward to grab her hand between his own, grasping it firmly before letting go.

“What brings you here?” Alec managed to breathe out, temples thumping.

If Lydia was unfazed by his usual lack of manners, she didn’t let it show. Her eyes grew rather softer when they settled on him.

“I need to speak with you about the wedding,” she said. “Father got word of your parents coming back soon, so we discussed a date and I wanted to talk to you about it before we decide anything.”

Alec leaned on his cane, urging himself not to let his eyes wander to Magnus, afraid of what he would be able to read on his ethereal features.

Magnus never spoke of it, not even when it was only the two of them, sharing secrets in the safety of Alec’s room with only darkness surrounding them. Lydia’s name never passed the barrier of his lips, no more than he allowed them to discuss the somber future that laid ahead for them.

But Alec knew that Magnus feared it as surely as he did himself.

“Well, I’d better leave you to it then,” Magnus said, and his gaze found Alec’s on its own accord. His amber eyes were unreadable behind the mask he wore to hide his heart’s calling, but Alec’s heart clenched in his chest all the same. “I’ll be in the study. I believe we left our chess game pending. I’ll go concoct some tactics.”

They had not. Magnus had beaten him the night before, Alec having been too distracted by the candle light catching in Magnus’ hair to focus on anything but it. The only game they were playing now was one far more dangerous, far more deadly.

He nodded simply, words swirling in his head but never finding their way out, and Alec watched, powerless and mute, as Magnus walked away and disappeared out of the kitchen. He allowed himself a moment - short, but blissful - to remember the way Magnus’ eyes had shone just a split second before Lydia had walked in the kitchen, the way his laugh had ricocheted against the walls, filling Alec with warmth and that strange feeling he had learned to associate with Magnus’ presence - happiness.

The moment was fleeting, and it was long gone when he turned to Lydia again.

“I’m listening,” he said.

.

Cold wind slipped through the stables, a soft susurration that made no justice to the way it was hurling outside. Idris’ mane unfurled and whipped softly with a particularly rough stream, and Alec moved a reassuring hand over his horse’s neck, his other hand grooming his flank with a soft brush.

“Clary will be out of a job if Jace and you keep sneaking in to take care of the horses,” a playful voice called at his back.

Alec’s lips jumped with a smile, but he didn’t turn around. “I think Jace and I sneak in the stables for very different reasons.”

“Indeed,” Isabelle said, a knowing edge to her voice that forced Alec to face her. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Alec said with a shrug, moving to Idris’ other side.

“Well, I just got back from the market and found Magnus alone in the study,” she said, and the slight twitch of her eyebrow was all the indication she gave of the true meaning lying beneath her words. “I expected to find you there too, but Magnus said Lydia visited and he hadn’t seen you since then.”

Alec hummed absently, brushing dust off of Idris’ elbow.

“Alec,” Isabelle sighed, stepping closer.

There was an apology in the way she uttered his name, something wiser than her years and more miserable than he would have ever allowed his little sister to be. He darted his gaze away.

Inhaling deeply, Alec licked his lips, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand and opening the first buttons of his waistcoat with the other. The air seemed to be too little in the stables, flowing away from his lungs with each passing moment.

“We set a date for the wedding,” he muttered, but his eyes were riveted on his horse’s shoulder.

Isabelle nodded, glancing at him as she lightly stroked Idris’ forehead. “And you’re hiding here because you don’t want to tell Magnus?”

Alec froze, gaze shooting to his sister before quickly focusing back on his task. “Why wouldn’t I want to tell Magnus?” he said offhandedly.

Isabelle gave him a pointed look and circled around Idris to take the brush off of Alec’s hand, forcing him to face her. With a sigh, she reached out to grab his shoulder, squeezing lightly.

“Do you really think anyone under this roof doesn’t know about you two?” she asked in a soft, reassuring tone that made his stomach squirm painfully. Alec could feel himself pale with the dread seeping through his veins, but Isabelle didn’t let him panic. “It’s okay, Alec. We noticed because we know you. You’ve been happy. I had forgotten how good happiness looked on you. We don’t need to go searching far for the source of it.”

Alec bit his bottom lip on a smile, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, in a small, hoarse voice he barely recognized as his own. “We are doomed anyway.”

“Call off the wedding,” she argued, and the fire in her eyes almost managed to make him believe in a reality where it was a possibility.

“So Mother and Father can marry me off to some other woman that I’ve met twice in some socialite event?” he scoffed.

“We could- We could find another solution,” she offered with unwavering verve. “You can’t give up on-”

“Izzy,” Alec snapped, and she slammed her mouth shut, blinking at him. He pinched the bridge of his nose, heaving out a deep, defeated sigh. “There is no happy outcome to this. I know it. Magnus knows it. We’re just making the best of it while we can.”

“But it shouldn’t have to be this way.”

He allowed himself a moment, just one, to take in the dream she spoke of, the dream he desperately wanted to hold on to, the same dream that he and Magnus dared to whisper to each other between poems and shared confessions that bore of love everything but the word itself.

“No,” Alec said grimly. “It shouldn’t.”

He grabbed the brush from her hands and turned back to Idris. “Let it go, Izzy,” he asked softly, almost pleading. “I’m trying not to think too much for once.”

“You can’t avoid it forever,” Isabelle said, and she sounded mostly apologetic. “You need to talk about it with him.”

“I know,” Alec whispered. “I will. We will.”

Isabelle rubbed a comforting hand on his back, leaning her head against his shoulder. “If I can help, I will,” she said. “I love you.”

The smile curling on Alec’s lips was only half forced. “I love you too,” he murmured, leaning his cheek against the top of her head.

.

In his years of being a writer, Magnus had learned not to try to understand how inspiration worked. Strong emotions tended to spur it but it was always fleeting, and it could show up unexpectedly in the most random moments. Sometimes it stuck around for a month or more, sometimes it was only a couple of hours.

Lately, that old flame had slowly been rekindled and he had found himself writing more in the past weeks than he had in the six months before he had left New York for London. Words flowed easily, spilling from his hand and directly onto his leather-bound notebook as if they had been waiting at the tip of his quill for as long as he had struggled to get them out.

Writing had almost been easy, easier even than he ever remembered it being. He knew deep down that it had to be linked somehow to the man who was laying in bed with him, head pillowed on his lap as Magnus played with his hair. Alec hummed absently every now and then, although his eyes never left the Byron’s collection in his hands.

Magnus couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so surrounded — almost overwhelmed — by peace. It was a peculiar feeling, one Magnus had been reluctant to succumb to but that had taken over nonetheless. It seeped through his veins and eased the wild beats of his heart at the same time as it spurred them into folly.

Alec was a contradiction in his core, bluntly frank but hiding, bold as long as the danger didn’t affect his loved ones, soft only behind closed doors, ruthless when he had to take care of his parents’ business. He was a mystery Magnus was slowly starting to unveil, drawn to the kindness of his heart even in moments like this one when Alec wasn’t sure what the right thing to do was. Magnus didn’t have the heart to tell him there was no point in looking for any kind of rightness in the situation they had gotten themselves entangled in.

They would end up heartbroken — one of them, or both — for it was the only possible outcome to their ephemeral liaison.

With a sigh, Magnus pushed away the notes he had been reading. He had been reviewing his latest progress in his future novel, and although they had come easily at the time, he was slowly coming to a point where he hated every single word he had written.

He stared down at Alec instead, at the sharp line of his jaw, his long eyelashes casting shadows on his pale skin and his hazel eyes drifting over Byron’s words. Magnus had gotten used to the marvel Alec’s eyes could hold when they squirmed through the words of one of the geniuses of their time. It was probably why he was able to pick up so easily on the missing spark and the enthusiasm they were missing then.

Magnus pushed a loose strand of hair out of Alec’s eyes, his thumb brushing against his brow.

“Are you going to tell me what you and Lydia talked about that got you in such a foul mood or do I have to guess?” he asked softly.

The wind whistled loudly outside, and Magnus could barely hear Alec’s whisper over it.

“How could I be in a foul mood when I’m laying here with you?”

Magnus rolled his eyes, a fond smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His fingers skimmed along Alec’s forehead.

“You tell me, darling.”

Alec reached out to grab Magnus’ hand and press a soft, lingering kiss against his palm. He shut his eyes, inhaling deeply, in and out, and again, until his furrowed brows relaxed into a placatory expression and he opened them, glancing up at Magnus.

“Lydia and her father settled on a date for the wedding,” Alec mumbled, an apology dancing in his gaze. “She came over to confirm it with me.”

Magnus hummed, ignoring the painful tug of his heart.

“I’m sorry,” Alec whispered, running his thumb over Magnus’ knuckles.

“It was always the only outcome,” Magnus replied, forcing a smile on his lips.

There was no way to avoid fate, and it was as cruel as death. Magnus had gotten used to the demons in his life, to the voices susurring to his ear reminders of the reality, to the invisible and yet forever present hand pressing onto his neck and squeezing the air out of his lungs. He had thought, once, that it would get easier eventually, that the unforgiving clutch would numb and soothe the pain eventually. Loving Alec felt the same way, but as powerful as love could be, fate was stronger. Fate was unstoppable.

“What if it wasn’t?” Alec murmured. The words seemed to have escaped him against his will, a materialization of his deepest thoughts that had never been designed to come out. They hung into the air between them, sharp and ruthless.

“Alexander,” Magnus said, failing to swallow past the lump in his throat.

Alec’s eyes widened as if he had finally heard the words he had dared to utter and he moved in a swift movement, sitting down on the bed to face Magnus, never letting go of his hands.

“What if it wasn’t the only outcome?” he repeated, with more verve and determination this time.

Magnus frowned. “What other choice do we have?” he breathed out.

“Run away with me.”

His eyes shone like the brightest star in a hopelessly dark universe, his cheeks flushed as if intoxicated, and Magnus shut his eyes, his breath stuttering in his throat. He couldn’t watch the hope on Alec’s features, couldn’t bring himself to see the possibility of defeating the present and battling for a better future. When he opened his eyes again, the look on Alec’s face was alien, so different than anything else Magnus had witnessed before that he couldn’t make sense of it.

“I can’t,” Magnus murmured, shaking his head, and the words burned so deeply he had to force them out. “I cannot be selfish enough to ask of you to abandon your life here.”

“You’re not asking,” Alec protested, but the resolve was already slowly vanishing from his gaze, replaced by a more and painfully familiar fatalism. “I am.”

Magnus smiled a small and feeble smile, reaching out to cup his face between trembling fingers. “Your family is here,” he said softly. “Your life is in London, it has always been. You’re asking but you don’t know _what_ you’re asking, Alexander. Where is there for us to go? Do you really think you could leave your siblings behind without a second thought? Without regretting it in a few months or years and growing resentful?”

“I—I don’t know,” Alec said, tears prickling in his eyes despite his best effort at hiding it. “But I don’t want to let you go. I’m—” He paused, sucked in a deep breath, “—I’m happy with you, and I think you are too, are you not?”

“Of course I am,” Magnus replied, his hand gliding down to settle on the curve of Alec’s neck. “Why else would I be here?”

Alec lowered his eyes. “So it’s a no?” he asked, voice small.

“Ask me again when you are sure this is what you want, my darling. When you have truly thought about this,” Magnus said, leaning in to press a kiss against his cheek, feeling Alec’s eyelashes brush against his skin as he closed his eyes. “And then I will reply, and perhaps I will surprise us both.”

When Alec didn’t reply, his brows furrowed in something too close to sadness for Magnus not to feel his insides tear apart, he pressed his lips against Alec’s, lingering until he could feel him relax under his touch.

“Until then, I am right here,” he said against his mouth, “and that is all that matters.”

Alec’s hands drifted to his waist, tugging him closer until Magnus was all but straddling his lap. His hand slipped beneath Magnus’ shirt and settled on his back like it belonged here, long fingers trailing against his skin.

Their mouths aligned together, bodies entwining and fitting together like the verses of the poems they both adored.  

“ _Wild nights - Wild nights!_ ” Alec recited, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “ _Were I with thee._ ”

Magnus chuckled, his fingers tangling in Alec’s unruly hair. “My, my, Alexander,” he said playfully. “What have you been reading?”

Alec rolled his eyes, but it did nothing to take away from the adoration in his gaze.

“ _Wild nights should be Our luxury!_ ” Magnus finished, and slotted their lips together.

.

Magnus woke up to the first lights struggling to get past the heavy curtains of Alec’s room. He could hear the drum of the rain outside, washing away the stubborn remainings of the snow that had been falling for the past month. February was finally bringing some relief; although the cold lingered, it seemed somehow far more bearable than December and January had been.

If the soft snores were anything to go by, Alec was still asleep by his side, so Magnus made sure to be quiet as he sat on the bed, rubbing the palms of his hands on his tired features, before casting a glance at his lover. Alec looked peaceful as he slept, his lips parted slightly and his hair an utter mess, and Magnus couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

Alec had told him, after his conversation with Isabelle in the stables, that their secret wasn’t one to the people living in the mansion — Magnus hadn’t been surprised, really, they were not as discreet as they could and should have been when they were safe between familiar walls — but they still never took the risk of waking up together or come out of the bedroom late enough to get caught.

It was one thing to hear from Isabelle that they knew, but another entirely to actually feel free enough to expose their relationship for what it was.

It was already later than he usually let himself stay. With a sigh, Magnus slipped out of bed and he shrugged into his nightshirt, before turning back around to press a flitting kiss to Alec’s forehead. Alec reached for him in his slumber, his mouth turning downwards when his hand fell down the empty side of the mattress, and Magnus wondered if Alec did that every morning when he woke up to find Magnus already gone. His eyes fluttered open and settled on Magnus, heavy with morning languor.

A tired smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “How do you look so beautiful when the sun isn’t even up yet?”

“Witchcraft,” Magnus replied playfully, winking.

Alec hummed in agreement, stretching lazily in the sheets. “It must be it.”

“I have to go,” Magnus said lowly, leaning in to plant a quick kiss to his lips. Alec chased after him, moaning in disapproval when Magnus denied him, staying out of reach.

“You are unbearably bad-mannered,” he protested, falling back into his pillow.

Magnus bit his lip on a chuckle. “I’ll see you at breakfast. I might show you then how incredibly bad-mannered I can be.”

Alec shut his eyes again and settled more comfortably into the bed. “I can’t wait,” he muttered sleepily, a lazy smile spread on his peaceful features.

Magnus’ heart clenched in his chest and he shook his head in amusement, grabbing Alec’s copy of Byron’s poetry before walking up to the door. It had been a while since he had let himself be consumed so fully by the many flavors of joy. He had always thought of happiness as a collection of positive emotions brought together in an explosion of pure and unabashed bliss, but if happiness had to be bound to only one thing, it seemed evident to him that Alec’s smile was where his found its source.

It was like waking up from an interminable nightmare to find serenity at the end of the road, wrapping around him to keep his soul loved and nurtured.

And if Magnus was quite honest, he was terrified of how quickly it could slip away.

“Mr. Bane?”

He had barely taken two steps away from the door of Alec’s room when the drawling voice came.

Magnus went still, his previous happiness replaced by dread so rapidly that he felt dizzy for a moment. Bracing himself with a deep breath, Magnus spun around to face the intruder, a long shiver running down his spine.

“Father Sebastian,” he said, loud enough not to be suspicious but to hope Alec would hear it nonetheless. “What are you doing here?”

Sebastian lifted an eyebrow, but remained otherwise impassible. “I have an appointment with Mr. Lightwood in an hour,” he said, a small smile on his lips, anything but sincere. “I thought I would come earlier to visit my sister but I suppose I got lost. This is a big mansion.”

Magnus forced a smile on his lips. “You must have indeed if you think the stables are on the first floor,” he replied through gritted teeth, pointing a finger at the stairs a bit further down the corridor. “It’s that way.”

Sebastian tilted his head. “I already visited the stables,” he said. “She wasn’t there.”

“It is still very early,” Magnus retorted. “Most of the mansion is still asleep.”

“But you’re not.” Sebastian narrowed his eyes on him. He turned to the door Magnus had just exited, never dropping the facade of politeness that painted his features. “Pardon my impudence for I don’t know the mansion as well as you seem to do, but wasn’t that Mr. Lightwood’s room?”

Magnus tightened his hold on the book in his hand, urging his heartbeats to settle down. “I am a light sleeper,” he said, as calmly as he possibly could. He held up the book to show it to Sebastian. “I was just borrowing a book. Mornings can get boring when you’re an early bird.”

“Insomnia?” Sebastian said, and although it was worded as a question, it seemed obvious that he didn’t expect an answer from Magnus. “God could help you find your peace, if you accepted Him into your life.”

The panic pulsing through his veins prevented Magnus from even rolling his eyes, so he shrugged instead, feeling his frantic heartbeats throb in his temples.

“Are you alright?” Sebastian asked, lifting an eyebrow.

Magnus wondered if he managed to fool anyone, if one could look at him and not perceive the mischievous spark flickering in his grey eyes. Did anyone truly believe in the goodness of his soul when such wickedness was mirrored in his gaze?

Magnus gulped, clutching the book tighter, finding a tether in the familiarity of it, something to ground himself. “Of course,” he said. “You just took me by surprise. We’re not used to visitors so early in the morning.”

Sebastian’s smile was nothing short of malicious. “We? Are you not a visitor yourself, Mr. Bane?” he asked, in a low voice that made the threat it contained all the more obvious.

A door opened in Magnus’ back before he could reply.

“He’s a guest,” Alec corrected, his voice leaving no room for argument.

He was dressed already, and if there was a hint of fatigue in his eyes, that was the only clue that he had just woken up. Otherwise, he looked like he had been ready to face the day for a while, not a crease in his impeccable suit. The tie knotted around his neck was Magnus’, surely because he hadn’t been able to find his own, but there was no way for Sebastian to know that.

“You’re early,” Alec added, lips tipped in pageant irritation.

“I guess we’re all early birds, aren’t we?” Sebastian retorted, with a benevolent smile that looked like a poor disguise on him.

Alec nodded sternly. “You can wait for me in my office, Father Sebastian,” he said. “I am going to ask Simon to bring us some tea and I will join you in a moment.”

He seemed to hesitate but Sebastian eventually acquiesced, sending Magnus a quick smile before walking away from them, chin held high, while Alec and Magnus walked in the opposite direction towards the kitchen.

“Are you okay?” Alec whispered as soon as they were out of earshot.

Magnus took a right turn and opened the first door, the one to his room, leaning against the wall. He inhaled deeply to calm his raging pulse, focusing on evening his breathing.

“He knows, Alec,” he breathed out, glancing up at him, eyes wide.

Alec shook his head, reaching out to cup Magnus’ face in his hands, rubbing his thumbs soothingly against his cheekbones. “We don’t know that,” he murmured, but there was a hint of doubt in his tone that couldn’t have duped Magnus.

“I saw it in his eyes,” he replied, his hand shooting up on their own to grip the lapels of Alec’s jacket tightly, the book still firmly tucked in the other one. “He knows.”

Alec shut his eyes for a second, and Magnus felt his fingers tremble slightly against his skin, his brows dipping in a frown. He inhaled deeply before opening them again, the hazel almost completely gone.

“I’ll try to figure out what he knows while we talk,” he promised. “I had forgotten he was coming today to collect the annual donation my parents give to the Church. This is all my fault.”

Magnus let go of the jacket to slip his hand underneath instead. It was unsettling, really, how easily Alec’s mere presence could calm him, how feeling the warmth of his body could crowd his own with courage against adversity.

Heaving, he tilted his head up to press a soft kiss to Alec’s mouth, his heart leaping in his chest, and clutching at the ineludible thought that this could very well be the last time.

“This isn’t your fault,” he said against his lips, leaning his forehead against Alec. “Remember the story we came up with?”

Alec nodded against him. “I was hoping we would never need it.”

“Me too, my darling,” Magnus sighed. “Me too.”

Alec took a step back, his hands slipping down to grab Magnus’. “I’ll get rid of him as quickly as possible,” he said, “tell him Simon is still asleep and I didn’t want to wake him up so early. I’ll see you at breakfast.”

It had sounded so much lighter a few minutes ago. It had sounded joyful, and like a promise for promiscuity and delight. Not anymore.

Magnus gave Alec a small, feeble smile that he knew wasn’t mirrored in his eyes, although it was on Alec’s features. They walked out of his room together, and Magnus could only watch as Alec strode his way to his office with tense shoulders.

If he had believed, even a little bit, Magnus would have cursed to that God that played with them, made them pawns of a somber game they had no chance to win.

The Church had its way of providing violent awakenings.

.

Once, Alec remembered, he came upon a letter addressed to his parents. His father usually let him stay in his office with him as long as Alec didn’t disrupt anything or tried to mingle in adult business. He was young and filled with the curiosity of his age, and his parents had left in a hurry after Robert had read it and left Alec and his little sister under the care of Hodge. Alec had just wanted to know what had spurred such urgency.

Over a decade later, Alec remembered too well how terrifying the words had seemed to his young eyes. His parents had come back with grave masks on their faces, and a boy a couple of years younger than Alec himself. Prosecuted, incarcerated, homosexuality, suicide… Those were big words for a little boy, and it wasn’t until years later that Alec actually understood what had happened to Michael Wayland, his father’s oldest friend. It took him a few more to understand this was a common fate for people like them in the times they underwent.

Alec had lived through his own fallout, the limp he still sported a constant reminder, but he would be damned if he ever let Magnus suffer for the both of them.

Sebastian hadn’t said it in so many words, but after their talk, Alec couldn’t have denied the veracity of Magnus’ qualms.

His parents had made a habit of donating money to the Church every year. Up until then, Alec hadn’t known exactly how much, but the task had befallen on his shoulders in his parents’ absence, and consulting the accounting books had him frozen in shock.

He had written the check nonetheless, eager to get rid of Sebastian as quickly as humanly possible, manners be damned. Still, he hadn’t been able to bite his tongue even as he handed the money and caught sight of the undisguised disdain on the priest’s features.

“Perhaps you could use some of that money to buy a pocket watch,” he had suggested with a polite smile that he knew didn’t manage to conceal the bitterness swirling in his stomach. “So that you can tell that it is barely eight in the morning, and awfully early to visit and expect anyone to be ready.”

Sebastian’s laughter had been as spurious as his sermons about loving people for the way his God had made them to be.

“I can think of worse ways to spend money than for the Church, Mr. Lightwood,” he had said. “And it might save you from eternal damnation.”

It wasn’t his lightheartedness that still haunted Alec a week later, nor the malicious spark that had danced in his gaze. It was his next words.

“There is a price to pay for freedom. I have my concerns regarding the company you choose to keep, but you should worry about saving your own soul.”

The words had been swirling in his mind ever since. He hadn’t replied, too scared to make things worse for Magnus and for him, but he couldn’t forget. Although he had tried his best to reassure Magnus that they were still safe, he hadn’t been able to hide the fear gnawing at his insides that same night when they found themselves in bed and every single one of his touches were tainted with desperation, every single one of his kisses with concern and terror.

Magnus had felt it, he was sure. He knew him too well at this point to be oblivious to the chaos whirling in Alec’s mind. He hadn’t said a word, but he had matched the desperation he could feel radiating from Alec tenfold. It had been a restless night for them both, because they had refused to fall asleep by fear of waking up in a nightmare.

They had held each other through the night, rarely talking, sometimes kissing.

Alec had never been so terrified of losing someone than he was of losing Magnus, but holding him had somehow thawed the hectic thoughts consuming his mind and filling it with the worst possible scenarios.

A little over a week later, Alec was slowly allowing himself to feel at ease again. He and Magnus were being more careful, albeit unconsciously. He had woken up to an empty bed every morning since Sebastian’s impromptu visit, and if it made his heart ache, he knew it was for the best. They would never be the ones who could wake up next to each other in the mornings and revel in each other’s warmth as the first rays of sunshine peeked through heavy curtains.

It had happened once — one time too many — and Alec would cherish the memory, for it was all he could hold onto. He would carve it in his mind and keep it hidden away, in that corner of his brain that seemed reserved for Magnus alone, so that he could recall what happiness felt like even after Magnus was gone. After they fatally had to part, for they would.

February was already halfway gone, and every moment brought them closer to the end. And every moment closer to it was another nail in the metaphorical coffin. If he could have stopped the time right then, Alec would have without question.

They were in the study, as they often were, and Magnus was sitting on the armchair by the window, scribbling in his leather-bound notebook, his brows furrowed in concentration. It was a grey, gloomy day, and the sun didn’t pour through the window to shroud him in light, but Magnus didn’t need it in order to glow. He was wearing a simple red shirt, his usual necklaces falling loosely on his chest, but there was nothing Magnus could wear that didn’t make him the epitome of radiance.

He made it really difficult for Alec to focus on the monthly reports he was supposed to work on in his parents’ absence. It was easy — almost troubling so — how easy he could forget about the rest of the world whenever Magnus was in the room.

Magnus’ lips twitched with a small smile, soft and indulgent. “You’re staring, Alexander,” he told him, his eyes riveted on his notebook.

“I know,” Alec said, unapologetic.

Magnus scoffed out a quiet laugh and tore his eyes away from his own words to glance at Alec. “You make it really hard to concentrate.”

Alec almost laughed at the irony. He lifted an eyebrow instead. “Are you ever going to tell me what you’re working on?” he asked.

“I’m writing risqué poetry about your lips and the little noises you make when I ravish you,” Magnus said with a smirk.

Alec blushed, but managed to throw him an unimpressed, albeit fond, glare. “Magnus,” he groaned.

Magnus chuckled, stretching his neck to get rid of the tension that his hours immobile had certainly put there. “I’m working on my next novel,” he said, more seriously.

Alec perked up, curiosity getting the best of him. “What is it about?”

Magnus smiled, giving him a look that spoke of how limpid the answer should have been. Before he could get a word out, however, there was a decisive knock on the door and Magnus leaned back into the armchair just as Alec’s enthusiasm deflated with disappointment.

“Come in.”

Luke walked in with a smile. “Good afternoon, gentlemen,” he said.

Alec bolted to his feet to shake his hand, frowning. “Did we have an appointment?”

“I will leave you to it, then,” Magnus said, shutting his notebook and tucking it against his stomach protectively. Alec almost let an enamoured smile take over his face at the sight, but he composed himself before he could disclose his infatuation.

Luke shook his head, laying a hand on Magnus’ shoulders to halt him. “We didn’t have an appointment, and I wanted to talk with you both.”

Magnus curved an eyebrow, sending Alec a startled glance that he could only answer with a shrug.

Luke moved further into the room and went to stand in front of the window, arms crossed over his chest, staring pensively at the iron gates and the front yard where his carriage was stationed.

“Luke?” Alec called tentatively. “Is something wrong?”

Luke inhaled deeply. “You know that gentlemen club I go to twice a month to play Whist?” he says airily, almost like he was too distracted to care for the answer.

Confused, Alec nodded, but he soon realized Luke had no intention of turning around to face them. He shared a quick, perplexed look with Magnus before settling his attention back on the doctor.

“Yes.”

Luke hummed. “I went last night,” he eluded. “For many people, like me, this is just a place to play cards and socialize.” He paused, and it was enough for Alec to feel apprehension lurch in his stomach. “Other people talk business, build their networks… And others are there to gossip. To share the latest hearsays and watch it spread like wildfire.”

Alec nodded, moving closer so he could lean against the fireplace next to Luke. “Okay?” he said, the turmoil almost palpable in his voice. “What is it, Luke? You’re worrying me.”

“Us,” Magnus chimed in, walking up to stand at Alec’s side.

“Valentine Morgenstern was also there last night,” Luke eventually explained. “He had his own rumors to share… and they were about you.”

Alec’s breath hitched in his throat and he stilled. “A-About me?” he whispered in a breath, hoping with all his might that it would be it. He could handle rumors about himself. Those were fine.

Luke shook his head, finally turning to face them with apologetic eyes, and Alec’s world crumbled.

“About you two,” he said but Alec didn’t think the clarification was necessary for either of them. “And the nature of your relationship.”

Alec was stunned into silence. This was what he and Magnus had talked about, what they had feared after Sebastian’s unexpected visit, and even before that. It was the vulnerability of the dangerous path they had chosen to take shattering beneath their feet. All because they had enjoyed one another’s presence in the morning for a second too long. All because they had dared to dream they could have this for themselves.

“What about it?” Magnus asked offhandedly, and Alec was impossibly thankful that he, at least, managed to preserve some of his usual poise. It was only because he knew him as well as he did that Alec could discern the disarray in the slight flex of his jaw.

Luke sighed. “You don’t have to lie to me. I don’t care.”

“Care about what?” Magnus continued, lifting an eyebrow in inquiry. “Alexander and I’s friendship? I am very curious as to why it could be cause for gossip.”

“If you want the details, someone apparently saw you walking out of Alec’s bedroom very early in the morning in a very casual outfit,” Luke replied, sighing. “A friendship is not what those rumors entail.”

“This is ludicrous,” Magnus huffed out, and Alec reminded himself to nod in agreement.

“He was just borrowing a book,” Alec managed to say, mentally congratulating himself for keeping his voice steady and firm. “Magnus and I have the same interest in poetry. He often borrows books from my personal collection. And he has been living with us for a few months, we don’t bother ourselves with formalities anymore.”

“The fact that he has been living with you for a few months only makes those rumors worse,” Luke retorted. “I am not only your doctor, Alec. I think I have proven myself to be your friend, too, and I wanted to warn you. Both of you. Valentine was talking about contacting the authorities.” Luke’s eyes darted between them and settled on Alec again. “You have contacts here, in high places, but Magnus doesn’t. This is more dangerous for him than it is for you. I don’t care if this is just hedonism or if you two are in love. I only care for your safety, and it is in peril.”

The silence that followed was heavy with tension, sharp enough that Alec could have cut through it with a knife. He was immobile, and he didn’t dare to even glance at Magnus out of fear of giving away too much. Could they hear the wild beatings of his heart? Could they feel in the air the horror sipping in his blood?

So, this was it.

Back to the shadows for them.

Fear travelled in Alec’s veins, numbing everything else but the abrupt, overwhelming need to protect Magnus, to make sure he would get out of this mess unscathed. Luke was right. Magnus was in a more delicate situation than Alec was. He had never stopped to think about it before. Although he wasn’t sure his father’s position would make much of a difference were they to be arrested. He had heard stories before, and they didn’t seem to stop at a title that had been given to his family centuries ago because one of his distant relatives had married someone of royal blood.

Alec had no care for titles if it meant Magnus would go down for both of them.

Bracing himself with a deep breath, he turned to Luke, and let the facade fall.

“What should we do?” he asked.

“Alexander,” Magnus said at his side, soft and forlorn all at once.

Alec grabbed his hand, forgetting all about what Luke could think of it —and knowing full well that Luke wouldn’t ever use it as proof against them. “I need you to be safe,” he said in a low voice, as if it could turn back time and keep this between them, the secret of what truly laid in Alec’s heart when his eyes found Magnus’.

“And I, you,” Magnus replied in the same tone, the placid one he had employed to convince Luke of their fable long gone to leave room for the utter tenderness that always made Alec’s heart flutter in his chest.

Alec clasped his hand a little tighter, before glancing back at Luke. His eyes had softened as he looked at them, his face edged with sympathy, and an apology that wasn’t his to give.

“I’m sorry,” he said, the words written on his features. “I… I think you know what you have to do. I have a spare room” he added in a murmur. “I’ll go home and make sure it’s ready for you.”

His dark eyes fleeted to Magnus for a second, and then he reached out for Alec’s shoulder, squeezing lightly. “I’m really sorry,” he said again, and then he was gone, and there was only the two of them, condemned to misery.

All because they had allowed themselves one single morning.

.

 _I should have said yes,_ Magnus couldn’t help but think in the silence surrounding them.

Not a word had been spoken since Luke had shut the door of the study behind him. They were still holding hands, as if that simple touch was the only thing still keeping them together. Perhaps it was, Magnus pondered to himself grimly.

He shut his eyes, letting the reality dawn on him. There was no _perhaps_ , no _maybe_.

This was it.

“I should have said yes,” he murmured, unsure whether he was speaking to himself or Alec.

It was too late.

Oh, to be in love was a torment. Perhaps to be loved back made it even worse. For it was never easy, and in the struggle to be strong for each other, in the compulsion to protect the other, there was a risk of losing it all in a bare second.

Time had flown by so quickly, Magnus could barely believe it. They were supposed to have a couple of months left, just enough for himself to brace his heart for the loss, to wrap his mind around the idea of seeing his happiness ripped away from him and terminated.

It had been beautiful for as long as it had lasted, had filled Magnus’ soul with more joy than he had thought his heart could contain.

“What?” Alec whispered, but his gaze was lost to Magnus’, surely wandering in the windings of the same conclusions Magnus had just been forced to draw.

“I should have said yes,” Magnus whispered, before shaking his head. He had done the right thing. Alec, as awful of a truth it was, belonged here in London, with his family and the lies he had no choice but to tell. “We should have ending this a long time ago.”

“Magnus,” Alec choked out, almost offended.

“I am going to pack and warn Raphael,” Magnus said, fighting against himself to keep his voice steady.

“No,” Alec said, swirling to face him fully, clutching his hand in a tight, desperate grip. “No, Magnus,” he pleaded, his voice a broken thing.

Magnus had invented every excuse for staying. He didn’t know the city well. He hadn’t found the right house. Winter was the worst time to move out. He needed to be near Alec, as close as he possibly could. He had fallen in love.

He had run out of excuses now, and no excuse would tame down the rumors Luke had reported, or allow them the mercy they craved.

Alec had him addicted to the kindness of his eyes and the bluntness of his words, to the delicacy of his touch and the words he murmured in his ears, and Magnus had let himself fall without ever having been given something to hold onto.

It had all been a beautiful lie, one they had written together in full consciousness.

Magnus had let himself forget that it would end, that it was all but a mirage, a fleeting moment of his life. That, like Tristan and Isolde, it could never end in anything but tears and despair.

Magnus blinked away his tears and glanced up at Alec. His hazel eyes were already staring back at him, filled with sorrow and that impossible sadness Magnus had prided himself in having chased away.

“It has to end, Alexander,” he murmured.

“No,” Alec said, eyes brimming.

Magnus sucked in a deep breath, his gaze softening on his lover. _He should have said yes._

“M-Magnus,” Alec said, his voice suddenly stronger. Confident, if not in their future, in the veracity of his next words. “I love you.”

How powerful could words be.

Magnus could feel his insides tear. Bile raised up in his throat, and for a moment, a second alone, his heart pushed away the sorrow and let itself be filled with happiness. It had been a long while since he had last had these words addressed to him and let them have such power over him. It had been a long while since he had even let himself believe them.

“I love you, too,” Magnus whispered back, his hand reaching up to cup Alec’s cheek. And then the moment was gone, and the world rematerialized around them in all its malicious cruelty. “Which is why it has to end, my darling.”

Alec leaned into his touch, closing his eyes. “I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, his eyes fluttering open again, a crestfallen expression on his features that Magnus was sure to be mirrored on his own. “I can’t do this.”

“Let it end, Alexander,” Magnus murmured, each word tugging painfully at the strings of his heart. “While our hearts are still filled with love rather than resentment knowing we led each other to our downfall. Let it end now. Here, while we are still masters of our own fate.”

A tear slipped down Alec’s cheek, and Magnus caught it with the tip of his thumb, committing every line of his face into memory.

“What fate do I have if you’re not here with me?” Alec breathed out in a fractured and barely audible whisper. “What is there but silence and tears?”

Magnus didn’t have the answer, none that would ease the pain they were sharing anyway.

So he tilted his head up and pressed a soft, lingering kiss against Alec’s lips, and another one to his cheek.

“When you asked me to run with you,” he whispered in his ear, a tear slithering down his own face. “I should have said yes.”

Walking away, he thought, was the hardest thing he had ever done in his life.

.

Later that night, when Isabelle found him still in the study, benumbed by heartbreak, sitting in front of a game of chess they would never finish, Alec didn’t dare to say a word.

He knew Magnus was gone, for he had heard the sounds of the horses pulling the carriage against the ground as he left, and the noise had echoed in his empty heart for hours.

“He asked me to give this back to you,” Isabelle simply said, stroking the hair at the nape of his neck in a soothing gesture that didn’t achieve its goal.

She slipped something heavy in his hands, pressed a kiss to his forehead and disappeared, knowing better than Alec did himself that he needed solitude to fully grasp the fact that Magnus was gone.

It took Alec a long moment to look at the book she had given him, and another to realize Magnus had marked a page. It was the Byron’s collection he had pretended to borrow, on that dreadful morning where Sebastian had caught them unguarded.

Alec opened it, and let out a cry, running a hand in his hair to tug at it with all the frustration and desperation his heart was agonizing with.

Magnus was gone, and all Alec had were the memories they had made, and a poem to remember him by.

_ In secret we met— _

_ In silence I grieve, _

_ That thy heart could forget,  _

_ Thy spirit deceive. _

_ If I should meet thee _

_ After long years, _

_ How should I greet thee?-- _

_ With silence and tears. _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poems in this chapter are, in the right order:  
> \- Tristan and Isolde, opera by Richard Wagner (originally in German)  
> \- Wild nights - Wild nights! by Emily Dickinson  
> \- When We Two Parted by Lord Byron
> 
> I'm (mostly) on twitter [@_L_ecrit](https://twitter.com/_L_ecrit) and sometimes on tumblr [@lecrit](http://lecrit.tumblr.com/).
> 
> All the love,  
> Lu. ❤


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello cupcakes,
> 
> Remember when this was supposed to be a one shot? Me neither.
> 
> This is the last chapter, brace yourselves.
> 
> As always, please use the hashtag #lecrit if you're live-tweeting so I can keep track of your reactions.
> 
> Happy reading!

If there was one single thing that was better in London than in New York, it was undoubtedly the gin. Gin-drinking was a great vice in England, but thankfully one that all the socialites indulged in, so Magnus didn’t feel too alone for seeking relief in the temporary oblivion of the alcohol’s burn. It helped, if anything, to uphold inconsequent conversation with the men and women here with him who talked of splendour but knew it solely when it laid at the pit of a bottle.

It had been raining for days on London, as if the sky itself shared his loss, and Magnus had stayed inside up until that night. Luke had come to him, offering to take him to an ostentatious party thrown by a member of his gentlemen’s club to celebrate his daughter’s engagement.

The party was taking place in a large, four stories high house that held as many servants as it had rooms, in a reception room so big it could have been an apartment on its own. There was a small band in one corner of the room playing various waltzes for the guests.. The whole thing was so incredibly dull that Magnus had found nothing else to do but to lean against a wall and watch the couples dance, swirling in the room with the confidence of people who never had to worry about anything.

There was no passion to their movements, no spirit to guide their steps, and Magnus wondered inwardly which portrait Alec and he would have painted for the bystander had they had a chance to dance. He knew Alec’s body would have felt warm, and his hand in Magnus’ own a shield against all ache. His eyes would have shimmered prettily under the lights of the candelabra, and they would have outshone even the most stubborn flicker. He would have smiled to Magnus, the corner of his lips tipping up as his mouth curved into a tender grin that never failed to steal the breath from Magnus’ lungs.

Magnus shut his eyes as his heart clutched painfully in his chest, cursing himself for letting his mind wander in dreams that could never be more than foolish fantasy.

It had been raining for days in London, but the sky couldn’t do justice to the hurricane that had torn Magnus’ heart apart.

So he stood there, alone among the crowd, reaching inside of himself for the strength to put on a facade for the gossipers. They had heard of the rumors, as surely as they all knew that he was now a guest under Luke’s roof, but they didn’t dare to lay their eyes on Magnus long enough for him to suspect they were whispering about him. If Alec’s life hadn’t laid on the line as well as his own, Magnus wasn’t sure he would have tried to keep wearing the mask.

“How are you doing?”

Magnus tore himself out of the conundrum of his own mind to glance at Luke, who had apparently managed to escape some insignificant conversation to join him. His eyes were soft and kind as they always were but they also held more wisdom than Magnus would have normally allowed when it came to his own well-being.

“Not drunk enough,” Magnus said, holding up his empty glass. “I had been told there was no better place to get drunk than London.”

“Whoever told you that certainly didn’t mean in those circles,” Luke retorted, gesturing vaguely over his shoulder to the crowd of elegant but equally mundane socialites. “It’s hard to keep a clear head if it’s drowning in gin.”

Magnus smirked, tilting his head towards Luke. “ _You have to be always drunk_ ,” he recited, with an amused smile that only felt partly forced. “ _That’s all there is to it–it’s the only way. So as not to feel the horrible burden of time that breaks your back and bends you to the earth, you have to be continually drunk._ ”

A woman who had been walking by stopped in front of them. “Oh, is that Baudelaire?” she asked, with a terrible French accent he tried not to pay too much attention to. She had lovely brown eyes and brown hair that was tucked behind her head in an intricate braid. Her dress showed more of her shoulders than should have been appropriate in this kind of event, but she didn’t seem to particularly care, nor to give a second thought to the few disapproving –or the contrary– looks it was earning her. Magnus decided that he quite liked her.

“It is,” he said with a small smile. “Do you like poetry?”

“Not really,” she replied, and his heart sunk in his chest. “But my brother is studying French literature and he speaks highly of the man.”

Had Alec been there, he would have turned to him to share a conniving glance with him, something secretive and layered with promises of whispers in the depth of the night. But Alec wasn’t there, and Magnus’ mask held strong.

“Do you like poetry?” she asked.

He loved it never more than when it passed the barrier of cherished lips to be uttered into his ears, he thought forlornly.

“I used to,” Magnus said, in a low, mournful voice he barely recognized as his own.

Luke reached out to grab his shoulder, squeezing gently, and Magnus focused on the simple touch, finding comfort in the knowledge hiding behind it. Luke knew of his loss, and it gave him the unique advantage of reading through the timbre of Magnus’ voice and understanding why it trembled.

She gave him a sympathetic smile, an ounce of genuineness in the ocean of fallacy surrounding them, and Magnus would have smiled back had he not been interrupted by a conglomerate of the same old and dull men that were somehow the heart of the party.

“Dr. Garroway!” one of them exclaimed, reaching out to shake his hand vigorously, before doing the same with Magnus. “Mr. Bane! How do you find the party?”

Good manners meant to hold one’s tongue more often than not, Magnus remembered, Ragnor’s words echoing into his mind.

“Marvelous,” he said, and quickly went back to daydreaming when the men proceeded to engage Luke into an undoubtedly boring conversation about whatever card game was trending these days.

He grabbed a glass of gin from the butler passing by, thanking the man with a smile. The alcohol burned his throat on its way down, and Magnus heaved out a deep, relieved sigh.

He was barely aware of Raphael joining them, his hand tapping Magnus’ back in silent support before going back in his pocket. Instead, his attention was drawn back to one of the guests in their circle, a small, bulky man with a horrendous mustache who wore a monocle like it could possibly make him look more intelligent than he was.

“Haven’t you heard?” he was saying, in that surprised tone people used when they had hearsays to share and tried too hard to pretend they didn’t bask in the attention that they stole for a moment alone. “He was arrested yesterday. Valentine’s contacts say he’s accused of being a _homosexual_.”

Panic gripped in Magnus’ abdomen and punctured his lungs in a second, his breathing gradually becoming more shallow. It couldn’t be happening. He had moved out of the mansion to prevent this, and he didn’t think he could allow his heartbreak, his sacrifice to be in vain. He hadn’t talked to Alec in weeks, had clung to the memory of his eyes and had cursed his own mind for not doing them justice. He had mourned his own inability to drown his sorrow in alcohol and had cried quietly when the sun shone on the empty side of his bed. He had refused to play chess with Luke and grown to hate the escape of poetry. He had endured so they would be free; so Alec would be free.

“Pardon me, gentlemen,” he managed to breathe out, excusing himself with a tight smile and a polite nod. “I have to go.”

He didn’t hear their host’s response but he grinned and patted Magnus’ shoulder with an oblivious grin, and Magnus didn’t wait any longer, walking away and forcing himself to pace his steps so it wouldn’t look like he was running.

His face was starting to throb as tension grew through his limbs. There was nothing to stop the primal surge to flee, to find out where Alec was kept and take his place, to tell him again that he loved him, and how sorry he was that the world they lived in could never understand the beauty and strength Alec’s heart encompassed.

His heart racing faster with every step, he rushed outside, without a coat or a second thought. His hands were trembling and his sight blurring with black spots that somehow struck through the darkness.

He heard a distant voice call his name, steady and familiar, and a strong hand grip his shoulder again, but Magnus couldn’t see past the worry clutching at his heart.

“I have to get to him,” he whispered faintly, wondering inwardly if he had spoken the words at all or if they were another figment of his overrunning mind. “I have to. I have to get to him.”

“Magnus,” the voice called again, but this time it was accompanied by a vigorous shake of his shoulders that cleared his mind just long enough for him to see Luke’s gentle eyes boring into his own, brows furrowed in concern. “Magnus, it’s alright, my friend.”

Magnus shook his head firmly, extricating himself from Luke’s grip. “I have to find Alec,” he said, despair coloring his voice in cold hues. “I need to see him. They can’t– They don’t have proof! We need to get him out of there. They can’t–”

“Magnus,” Luke called again, voice louder.

It made him jump out of his frenzy and exhale a deep breath, his blurry gaze riveting on the doctor.

“It wasn’t Alec,” he said once he was sure Magnus was somehow calm. “He wasn’t talking about Alec.”

Magnus blew out a tremorous breath, unable to quite make sense of Luke’s words. “W-What?” he murmured.

“Alec is fine,” Luke said. “I saw him at the mansion earlier today to check on his leg. Pangborn was talking about someone else. Alec is okay, I promise.”

“Is he?” Magnus asked softly, more to himself than Luke.

Did he wonder as often as Magnus did if he was alright? Did he have trouble going to sleep because he was too scared of waking up and reaching in the bed for someone who wasn’t there? Did the whiskey they had shared leave a sour aftertaste in his mouth? Could he still read the poetry they had treasured without hating every word?

“As well as can be expected,” Luke replied calmly, the tension slowly sipping away from his features now that Magnus had somehow simmered down.

He blinked the last of the black spots away, and his eyes found Raphael’s distraught face behind Luke’s back.

“Take me back to the house, please,” he murmured. “I just want to be drunk or asleep. Whichever comes first.”

Raphael nodded sternly and patted Luke on the back before walking up to Magnus to grab his arm and lead him to the carriage.

“You must be tired of taking care of me every time I set my heart up for heartbreak,” Magnus told him, chewing on his bottom lip.

Raphael scoffed. “At least this one loved you back.”

Magnus’ heart clutched painfully in his chest and he shut his eyes, heaving. “Yes,” he susurred, for Raphael’s ears only. “He did.”

Raphael helped him inside the carriage, but hesitated to close the door, glancing back at him with apologetic eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m not tired of you, my friend. I’m tired of the cruelty you have to face every time you allow yourself to wish for better days. You deserve better than this.”

The only answer Magnus could give him was a sad smile.

Raphael sighed, and shut the door.

_But on what? Wine, poetry or virtue, as you wish. But be drunk._

.

Magnus was everywhere and nowhere.

He was in every corner he had illuminated with his presence, every dark room that had brightened from his smiles. He was in the kitchen where they had shared private moments and laughter over breakfast. He was in the gardens, in every flower slowly blooming with the return of warmer days, the white bells shining under the morning sun and peeking even through the darkest nights. God, he was in the study. His presence lingered in every book he had touched, his peculiar scent of books and citrus clinging to the room as if the walls themselves were missing him.

Alec couldn’t be anywhere in the mansion without thinking of him, without missing the kindness of his eyes and the sharpness of his wit.

Even while wandering in the woods, Alec could only remember how Magnus had gotten lost in their wildness, and how effortlessly he had lost himself in Magnus.

Alec couldn’t stop loving him, for he was everywhere, and every reminiscence of his radiant presence left his heart in a shattered disarray of pieces. And yet, Alec wasn’t even trying. There was nothing about their time together he wanted to forget, no recollection too painful for him to try and recover what Magnus had stolen. Had he had a choice still, Alec would have given Magnus more. He would have given him everything, parts of his soul and his mind, for he already owned his heart entirely.

Magnus smiled, and it was intoxicating. He laughed, and it chased away Alec’s every nightmare. He loved, and it healed.

But he was gone now, and the weeks had flown by traitorously quickly. It seemed like time had quickened its pace, now that Alec didn’t have any reason to indulge in every moment.

He and Magnus didn’t belong in this time, but they would be timeless.

He supposed he ought to find a mere comfort in that thought alone. That was the only one he could hold onto.

“Alec!”

He blinked out of his thoughts, gently tugging on Idris’ reins to slow the horse down and turn around, only to lift an eyebrow at the sight of his younger brother running towards him.

“Aren’t you supposed to have a tutor session with Hodge?” he asked, too surprised to be fully disapproving.

Max took a second to catch his breath, leaning on his knees. Alec’s fingers tightened reflexively on the knob of his cane that was neatly fastened to his belt so as not to disturb Idris.

“Mother and Father–” Max breathed out, and stopped to hold up a hand, asking for a second to compose himself.

Alec’s brows furrowed in both concern and anticipation. “What is it?”

“They’re here,” Max said with a long exhale. “Mother and Father.”

“What?”

“They just arrived,” Max confirmed with a nod. “And their friend Ragnor Fell is with them.”

A curse almost slipped through Alec’s lips but he bit his tongue just in time, reaching down to grab his brother’s arm and hoist him up on Idris’ back.

“I thought they weren’t meant to arrive for another two weeks,” he said rather pointlessly.

Max shrugged, grabbing the saddle’s handle as Alec spurred his horse into a gallop. Max had told the truth, and that much was evident as soon as they got close enough to see the mansion. The walls themselves seemed to be moving, but the illusion came only from the animation Alec could witness through the wide windows.

He slowed Idris down as they approached the stables. Clary was already waiting for them there, Jace at her side. She grabbed the reins from Alec and helped Max get down as Alec untangled his cane from his belt, before following his little brother.

“They’re asking about Magnus,” Jace told him in a whisper, pretending to stroke Idris’ neck so he could have an excuse to lean in. “We didn’t know what to say because we didn’t want to contradict something you may have told someone else so we said you would explain.”

Alec nodded sternly, pushing away the sorrow Magnus’ mere name ignited in his bones, and made his way to the mansion. He found them in the music room. He hadn’t seen his parents in almost ten months, and he realized just then that he had missed them. They were not as close as they used to be before he was drafted and went to war, but as Maryse’s eyes bore into his, he found that this reality wasn’t too far away.

The sweet smell of jasmine drifted in the air, invading his nostrils as soon as he crossed the threshold of the room. She carried the scent around wherever she went, had done so for as long as he could remember. She quickly stepped his way, her grin broad and happy, and pulled him into a tight embrace. Alec melted into it, allowed himself a moment to find in his mother’s touch the comfort his broken heart needed. He shut his eyes, wrapping his arms around her and squeezing.

“Alec,” she said somewhat tearfully, drawing back to cup his face between tender hands. “You look famished, sweetheart. Have you been eating? Is Simon feeding you properly?”

Alec chuckled, gently grabbing her hand to squeeze it in reassurance. “Simon is feeding us more than necessary, Mother,” he quipped back, finding the playful smile was surprisingly easy to conjure. “I am fine.”

Maryse stared at him for a moment longer, eyebrows pulled down in an equally disbelieving and concerned frown, but she nodded eventually, and Alec turned to greet his father, who had approached them carefully.

“Hello, Son,” he said, shaking his hand with one of his and patting his shoulder with the other. “I see the mansion is still standing and your siblings haven’t managed to burn it to ashes.”

“Not for lack of trying,” Alec retorted, and his father let out one of his quiet and soft laughs. “It’s good to see you, Father.”

“You too, Alec,” he said, before gesturing to their guests who were patiently waiting by the piano. “Ragnor and his wife Catarina decided to come with us to London on their way to Italy. They are going to stay with us until the wedding.”

Ragnor was a tall man with pale skin and bushy eyebrows. His dark hair was scattered with grey strands that spread on his sideburns. His light green shirt made him look even paler, but he somehow exuded elegance, in an effortless way that reminded Alec too much of Magnus. The woman at his side had another kind of elegance, the kind that was all hidden strength and graceful simplicity. She had dark skin and dark hair pulled on top of her hair in intricate braids and when she smiled at Alec, it was genuine rather than polite, a rare occurrence in the circles his parents frequented.

“Good to see you, Alexander. The last time I saw you, you couldn’t even reach the piano for your lessons,” Ragnor said with a smile. Alec shook his hand and returned it, before shaking Catarina’s.

“It’s always been more Jace’s thing,” Alec replied good-heartedly. “I’m more of a book person myself.”

“So I’ve heard,” Ragnor replied, and Alec’s stomach made a painful twist. Had Magnus told Ragnor about him? About them? If so, what had he told him? He didn’t have to ponder further, because Ragnor was lifting an eyebrow at him, glancing over his shoulder as if he expected Magnus to materialize at his back. God, Alec wished he would. “Where is my dear ward? I need to talk to him.”

Alec clenched his jaw, anticipation travelling through his veins and spreading like a wildfire. It was just another lie, he told himself. The lies he feared most were the ones he had told himself for so long, but those were thankfully gone. He could be honest with himself, at least, and the lies slipping from his tongue to protect both himself and the man he loved were a small price to pay. It was a matter of survival, and his primal instincts had learned that deception was a muzzle he had to wear. It was merely a whisper among the anxious screams.

“He’s not staying with us anymore,” he said, inwardly thanking his soldier’s training for his ability to keep his voice steady. “He started working on a new book and he needed some space. He and Dr. Garroway became good friends so Luke extended an invitation for him to stay at his house. He’s been staying with Luke for the past month or so.”

The lies went through his mouth with the perfected ease that brought years of practice. They were just vibrations in the air, inconsequential for the people they were uttered to. Only Alec knew the difference. He only could feel himself tighten his grip on the knob of his cane, his body having learned that was the only reflex he could allow himself to live through deceit. It was a tiring habit, forcing him into a life that wasn’t quite right and would likely never be, but he alone was entitled to the truth –he and Magnus, perhaps– and it would have to stay that way.

“Oh,” Ragnor said, frowning. “It will have to wait until tomorrow then. We are quite exhausted from the trip.”

Alec nodded, giving him a tight-lipped smile. “Meliorn will show you the way to your room.”

Ragnor smiled a thankful smile and turned to leave, but Catarina lingered a bit after him, leaning in Alec’s space. She didn’t say a word, simply stared into his eyes like she could see the very core of his soul. She patted his arm, gave him a smile and disappeared after her husband. Alec shifted on his good leg, swallowing past the lump in his throat.

Magnus had mentioned her a few times. He had called her a friend and, faithful to himself as ever, had used Shakespeare’s words to describe her. _Look like the innocent flower; but be the serpent under ‘t._ It seemed indeed to suit her quite well, although Alec was certain Magnus had meant it with all the fondness he was capable of.

“Alec?” Maryse called softly, tearing him out of yet another reverie.

Alec hummed absently, sending her a smile whose falseness he could taste on the tip of his tongue.

“Did something go wrong with Magnus?”

_He left._

Alec forced himself to widen his smile. “Of course not, Mother,” he said. “Everything went great. He just needed to get away from all the craziness here… to focus. You know how the mansion can be.”

Maryse scoffed out a laugh. “Do I know? Oh, sweetheart, I know better than anyone.” She shook her head, but it was an act of utter fondness. “I’m glad to hear everything went well with our guest, although I had no doubt you would make him feel welcome. I know Isabelle was a great admirer, I hope she didn’t go and become infatuated with him. She seemed quite sad when we mentioned him earlier.”

She had this way of enduring half of his sorrow for him, his sister. If she could have, she would have carried the whole world for him as long as it meant he didn’t have to.

Alec had been so focused on his own pain he hadn’t stopped to think that maybe he wasn’t the only one missing Magnus. That maybe Magnus had charmed more than just him, and perhaps that was why the mansion had seemed less spirited than it usually was since he had gone.

“Nothing like that, Mother,” he assured her. “I think they just became good friends. As he and I did.”

The euphemism almost made him huff out a scornful laugh.

“Good.” Maryse nodded, a satisfied smile on her lips. “Your father and I will go get some rest, too.”

Alec heaved out a deep sigh as soon as the door had shut behind them, and he moved to the piano to lean against it, running a hand in his hair. Pain lanced through his leg, but he ignored it.

Later that night, he slipped into his bed and shuddered at the cold and loneliness of it. He missed Magnus’ muscular arm draping over his chest, and the smell of him that had vanished with his old sheets. He missed the warmth of his presence, and how easily it could chase Alec’s demons away.

They lurked in the shadows, now, and he urged himself to envision the smoothness of his lips, a perfect contrast to the vigor of his passion, and if it didn’t bring a smile back to his lips, it had the undeniable perk of luring him into a dreamless sleep.

.

From the window of Luke’s house, there was an outstanding view of Hyde Park and the Serpentine, a long tongue of water that cut through the park to divide it with Kensington Gardens. As spring slowly burgeoned around them, the boats went back on the shore. In the very early mornings, boys and men sometimes came to the water to bathe. Magnus’ favorite things, however, were the quaint-looking ducks and the wildfowl strolling around the park as if they owned the place.

He liked to sit against the window and watch London slowly wake up. It was a good alternative to sleep, which seemed to have deserted him these days. He could barely feel the exhaustion, though, buried under another type of ache that made his whole body suffocate with burning need.

He missed Alec, and everything else felt trivial in comparison.

“Magnus.”

He turned around to face Luke, forcing a smile on his lips. He knew the doctor wasn’t fooled, but he kept trying anyway, perhaps more for his own sake than Luke’s.

“You have a visitor,” Luke said.

Magnus’ heart slammed against his ribcage, his breath stolen from him as hope slipped through his veins. He quickly tamed it down, though. He couldn’t let himself hope, couldn’t expose his heart to more calamities.

It was a different heartbreak than the one he had experienced with Camille, for it felt more genuine. Rawer, perhaps. With Camille, it had felt like a piece of his heart had been ripped away from him. But Alec… Oh, without Alec, it was gone completely.

He abandoned his observation spot on the alcove of the study to follow Luke down the stairs.

It couldn’t be Alec, he told himself, time and time again. Yet, he couldn’t help the disappointment as he caught sight of the man waiting in the hall, chatting with Raphael. He wasn’t quite tall enough to be Alec, nor did he have his slender silhouette or the cane that spoke of a cruel history.

Disappointment morphed into fatality, and finally into a slimmer of joy as the man turned around and Magnus was greeted with familiar, cherished features.

“Ragnor!” he exclaimed, and his smile was as true as they came. He bolted down the stairs to hug his friend, feeling relief in the familiarity of it. “What are you doing here?”

Ragnor drew back, a smirk playing on his features. “I needed to make sure you were surviving the old Albion.”

Magnus quirked an eyebrow. “So you decided to take a ten day trip to London? Please, old man, just say you missed the scones.”

Ragnor snorted, shaking his head. “I was offered a teaching position in Rome. Catarina and I decided to take a little detour when we received your last letter. You didn’t sound quite like yourself.”

Magnus’ lips jumped with the beginning of a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I am confident I sent you only good news.”

“I’ve practically raised you,” Ragnor replied, an unmistakable tenderness to his tone. “I can read through your lines, Magnus.”

“I will leave you to it,” Luke said, voice grave despite his benevolent smile. “I have an appointment with a patient. You know where the tea and coffee are, Magnus.”

Magnus nodded in reply, and Ragnor waited for Luke to be gone before he wrapped an arm around Magnus’ shoulder, sending him a disbelieving look.

“So, I have to admit Alec’s lie was fairly convincing, but the boy looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks, and you look like it has been months. What is truly going on here?”

Magnus scrunched up his nose, sucking his bottom lip in. “What exactly did he tell you?”

“That you needed some space to work on your new book so you moved in with Luke because it was quieter than the mansion,” Ragnor said, and Magnus thought it was a clever lie, for it did hold a hint of truth.

He missed the wild gaiety of the Lightwood mansion, of Isabelle and Jace’s banter early in the morning, of little Max whining about having to go to his lessons but eventually rejoicing in them and telling Magnus all about it, of Simon singing obscure songs in Hebraic as he prepared his infamous shortcakes and Clary pretending to be unaffected by Jace’s attentions but blushing whenever he smiled her way.

More than anything, he missed the quiet he had found in the study, of Alec resting peacefully in his lap as they read through volumes and volumes of poetry and murmuring their favorite ones to each other.

“Well, it wasn’t a lie,” he tried. “In fact, I am almost done.”

“And I’m sure it’s marvelous,” Ragnor said without an ounce of doubt. “But I know you, my friend, and I sadly recognize the signs of a heartbroken Magnus. What happened?”

“You price things most when you’ve lost them,” Magnus said, a confession to a clever mind. “I’m learning the price of forbidden passion.”

Ragnor pursed his lips. “Is it too high to pay?”

“We both know it is,” Magnus said with a sigh, a small and desolated thing.

“Do you love him?” Ragnor asked.

There was no point in lying, not in the safety of these walls, not to the luxury of a nonjudgmental companion.

“I do,” Magnus answered.

“Does he love you?”

Alec’s eyes had been clear as the purest skies as he had uttered the words to Magnus, no matter the devastation that had brought him the courage to do so. Magnus’ heart broke, relentlessly, the same way it had a bit more every day he and Alec had spent apart.

“He does,” he said, and then, lower, “He did.”

Ragnor sucked in a sharp breath. “There is nothing unnatural about that,” he said. “It is the noblest form of affection.”

“This world makes a mockery of it,” Magnus replied, hating the dejection in his own voice.

“This world doesn’t understand anything about love,” Ragnor said. “This is why you’ve always been too good for it.”

Magnus smiled, gingerly but sincerely nonetheless. “Care for a game of chess?”

“Only if you let me win,” Ragnor retorted with reborn playfulness.

“We both know it won’t happen, old friend.”

Magnus won, undoubtedly too easily. He didn’t confront Ragnor about it, though, too focused on basking in that small comfort.

.

The mansion was buzzing again. It had taken two days for Maryse to reinvade the place and rule over it. In very little time, she had recovered her rightful place, and Alec was more than happy to let her.

Truth be told, he wondered how she could find this life exciting at all. He knew she did, and he was thrilled for her, but after months of taking care of his parents’ business on their behalf while they expanded their empire oversea, he had grown bored of it.

Perhaps Magnus had something to do with it, but Alec didn’t allow himself to think of him for more than a minute these days. He kept these thoughts for the nights, where they were lonesome but safe.

If Alec was relieved to let his parents take back the business now that they were back, it also brought another kind of ordeal. There was nothing stopping them from planning Alec’s wedding now, and Maryse had not wasted any time.

That was how he had wound up sitting outside in the gardens for an afternoon tea as Lydia’s parents and his own plotted the decimation of his scarce freedom.

Lydia had not said a word either, lost in her thoughts, but she nodded politely when Maryse addressed her and smiled to her father when appropriate.

Alec was too busy staring at the wedding invitation in his hands to pay them much attention. It was quite simple, a last minute invitation to precise the exact date to people who had received a first one almost a year ago.

_Mr. and Mrs. Lightwood and Mr. and Mrs. Branwell are delighted to invite you to their children, Captain Alexander Gideon Lightwood and Lydia Theresa Branwell, wedding on Saturday 30th April 1892 at St John’s Church, Hyde Park._

The letters were elegant, equally neat and cursive. On top of the invitation, Alec and Lydia’s initials were interlacing, surrounded by pale flowers.

The sight alone made him sick.

“Alec?” a voice, soft and prudent, called.

Alec blinked away from the obnoxious card to find Lydia’s mother leaning towards him, a light tilt to her head. “What do you think of the invitation, dear?” she asked. “We can make some quick changes if you dislike it.”

Alec had half a mind to tell her to erase her daughter’s name from it and replace it with another, but he bit his tongue.

“It’s great as it is,” he said with a grave nod.

The lack of enthusiasm was evident in his voice, but he didn’t try to hide it. They all knew there was nothing more to this marriage than an arranged union that would seal their business together.

It had seemed enough at the time Alec had proposed to Lydia, but that had been long before Magnus.

Magnus had changed everything.

Alec had tasted freedom, and like the opium they could too easily find in the gentlemen clubs the rich and powerful frequented, he had found it was highly addictive. Freedom was exquisite and invaluable, and Alec was about to say goodbye to it forever.

He hadn’t realized how devastating that was until Magnus had showed him a glimpse of happiness.

“The invitations are perfect, Mother,” Lydia interjected. She plastered a polite smile on her features before turning towards Maryse and Robert. “Could we be excused? I would like to talk to Alec in private for a moment, if you allow it.”

Robert waved his hand dismissively before Maryse could protest. “Go, go. It’s not like any of you have a word in the matter anyway. No more than I do.” The fatalism in his voice made Maryse scoff in indignation, but Alec’s lips jumped with the beginning of a smile. More than fatalism, it seemed to be mostly realism.

Alec followed gladly as Lydia led the way to the mansion. He frowned, however, when she didn’t stop once inside, and motioned for him to follow her as she went up the steps. Alec did, his curiosity invariably piqued. His step faltered, however, when she finally came to a halt in front of the study.

She walked inside without hesitation, but Alec lingered at the door, finding that taking that simple step more difficult than it had ever been.

There were too many memories in that room. He and Magnus had been intimate in that room, in ways that would have made him blush had he been alone. They had shared love confessions and fluttering kisses, away from prying eyes.

Alec had fallen in love with Magnus in that room, and their hearts had broken there too.

It felt cursed now, stained and defiled.

“Alec?” Lydia called. There was a hint of impatience in her voice, or so he thought. When he found her blue eyes, she didn’t seem frustrated, only inquisitive.

“Yeah,” he murmured, too low for her to hear.

He moved forward and if his legs trembled a little, he could blame it on his old injury.

“I didn’t lie,” Lydia said as soon as he had shut the door behind him. “I did want to speak with you privately.”

Alec lifted an eyebrow and moved to sit in Magnus’ armchair. _His_ armchair, he chastised himself inwardly. It still smelled like Magnus, but it wasn’t his anymore. It had never truly been.

He nodded once, motioning for her to continue.

Lydia took a quick glance around the room, her eyes drifting over the numerous volumes standing against the walls before settling back on Alec.

“I know how you love poetry,” she said. There was no way for her to know how bitter Byron’s words now made him feel, how it ripped his insides apart and held a grip on his lungs that hadn’t lessened since Magnus had left. “I haven’t talked about it with my parents yet,” she continued, oblivious, “but I thought maybe you’d like one to be read during the ceremony. I know it’s not traditional, but if you wanted to–”

“No,” Alec gritted out through clenched teeth. Anger seeped through his veins, threatening to engulf him, but he willed it away. Lydia didn’t know. She couldn’t imagine the delusion she had spoken, the offense she had unwillingly caused. “No,” he repeated, softly.

Lydia stood still for a moment, her brows pinched in an unreadable expression. “Very well.” She moved closer, her light pink dress almost purple under the light of the oil lamp. “The second thing I wanted to talk to you about”—she paused, but her hesitation lasted barely a second—“ is Magnus.”

Alec’s heart skipped a beat, but it wasn’t out of tenderness for the name.

It was fear that slithered through his veins and rendered him immobile.

“Magnus?” he parroted, and the apathetic edge in his own voice made him wonder if years of lies hadn’t finally turned him into a hollow shell. “What of him?”

“I know, Alec,” she said. It was quiet and earnest, her face a mask of gravity.

Alec shifted in his seat, but didn’t tear his eyes away from her. “What do you know, Lydia? You’re not making much sense.”

Lydia sighed, exasperated as much as it was afflicted. “I know of your feelings for him, Alec,” she said, and her expression left no room for protest. “And I know of his feelings for you.”

Alec didn’t let himself freeze, or show the shock on his features. He opened his mouth, ready to profess yet another rebuttal, but Lydia raised a hand to stop him, shaking her head.

“I have known where your heart laid all along, Alec,” she said. “Ever since we were teenagers and your adorable infatuation for the handsome Grand Duke from Bulgaria we met at the celebrations for the Queen’s sapphire jubilee.”

Alec frowned, his mouth parting in shock. “I did not–”

“Oh, please,” Lydia snorted, and it was incredibly unladylike of her, but Alec was too surprised to notice the slight change of demeanor. “You have never been a good liar, Alec.”

This was wrong in more ways than she could know, Alec thought, but he didn’t try to contradict her. There was no point, anyway.

“Lydia,” he started, but didn’t know what to say. He could beg her not to tell anyone, or tell another lie, with enough verve that he would eventually convince her, but he knew his heartbreak was still plain on his features. He missed Magnus, and it showed in the dark bags under his eyes and the hollowness of his gaze.

“I won’t say anything,” she said, and he nodded. That was all he needed to know. It didn’t change anything. She seemed to hesitate for a moment, toying nervously with the hem of her dress, and it intrigued him enough to focus his whole attention back on her. “In fact… I thought we could… come to an arrangement.”

Alec lifted an eyebrow, shocked once again into silence.

“Father found a house for Magnus,” she said, and Alec swallowed hard. He didn’t know why he let her continue. He didn’t want to talk about Magnus, not now that he was gone, not when Alec hadn’t seen him in weeks. And he most certainly didn’t want to talk about it with his fiancée. Still, she went on, oblivious to his internal turmoil. “And it is coincidentally right next to the one he found for us, once we’re married.”

Alec frowned, his jaw flexing with irritation. “I would rather not live next to Magnus once we’re married, Lydia,” he hissed, unable to help himself.

She didn’t seem too bothered by the unkindness of his tone. “What if you could be with him?”

All frustration vanished from his face at once. “What?”

“There is no love between us, Alec,” she said, as if he wasn’t conscious of the fact, “and there will never be. I found my heart guiding me somewhere else, too.”

Alec thought of John, of the softness of his smile as he had glanced at Lydia, and how she had blushed under his scrutiny, cheeks flushed with delight.

“John?” he asked, although he already knew the answer.

If Lydia was surprised, she didn’t show it. She nodded instead, lips tight. “He would be coming to live with us, as our butler. I could be with him and you with Magnus.” She had clearly given a lot of thought to this, and Alec was tempted to say yes right away, to say hell to the conventions and the public they would have to fool. “If he bought the house next to ours, it would make it easier.”

“What are you saying exactly, Lydia?”

She shrugged, as if nothing she had said was of consequence. “I don’t mind if you have an affair with Magnus,” she eluded. “Whether we’re married or not. You deserve to be happy, and so do I. This is a good compromise for the both of us.”

Alec allowed himself a moment to picture it. To be able to open a door and find Magnus on the other side. He could imagine his eyes glimmering under the lights, the patterns of his waistcoat reflecting in them like a maze of gold. He could see Magnus’ smile, the soft edge of its curve, with all its healing powers and potential for indulgence.

There would be laughter, hidden under the pretence of friendship, and joy in stolen moments.

But there would be no freedom, a constant fear of another mistake that would take them down, and down until they were thrown in the dirt, bones broken and minds tired. There would be secretive glances, and Alec knew they had already had their fair share of those.

There would be tears, of frustration and sorrow. There would be a life of lies, more of them, until Alec lost all sense of reality and he wouldn’t be able to discern them from the truth anymore.

It was asking too much from Magnus. It was asking too much from himself.

It was the promise of something, of being allowed to hold him again, to _love_ him again. But Alec had learned the price of forbidden passion, and it was too high to pay. Luke had said it himself, it would be even higher for Magnus, who didn’t have contacts in high places or the pretence of marriage to hide the true craft of his affections.

It was a hollow promise, another dream they would never unfold, another star they would never reach.

Alec pursed his lips, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No,” he sighed. “It might be a good compromise for the both of us, but it isn’t fair to Magnus. Or John.”

Lydia shook her head. “This is the best option we have,” she argued. “They can never be more than an affair, Alec.”

“Magnus isn’t an affair,” he snapped. He shut his eyes, inhaled deeply, and opened them again to stare at her. “If anything, it feels like you are.”

Lydia heaved out a deep sigh. “Yet I’m the one who you are engaged to,” she said, not unkindly.

“It’s not like I have a choice!” Alec protested, his voice coming out louder than he had expected it to.

“Exactly,” Lydia said, and there was something final in her voice that prevented Alec from objecting further. She reached in the pocket of her spring jacket, produced a small, white card out, and handed it to him.

Alec took a moment to eye it dubiously, but eventually plucked it out of her hand. His heart clenched in his chest.

“Go and see him,” she said calmly. “You have an excuse now. Talk to him about it, and see what he says. If he loves you as I think he does, he should have a word to say in this.”

Lydia walked up to him and touched his shoulder, squeezing gently.

“You can make this your choice, Alec.”

She turned away and left without another word.

Alec stared at the card in his hands, at their initials entangled together on the paper and the elegant handwriting that seemed to seal his fate.

It might have been a choice, but it felt like just another bar on a golden cage. He would be free, perhaps. Or he would at least experience a certain kind of freedom.

But this kind of freedom was a sad substitute, a deception to add to countless others.

This kind of freedom was no freedom at all.

.

In his studies and lessons with Ragnor, Magnus had often overlooked Greek mythology. As a child, he had appreciated the epic tales for what they were, gods and goddesses gallivanting on Earth, achieving impossible tasks and coming out either triumphant or charred in the most gruesome ways. It had taken a while for him to take a deeper look at the stories they told, to reveal the morals and warnings they held.

Once, he had found an incredibly amusing pastime in attempting to apply the myths to the people around him. He had met Zeuses, Percephones and Athenas, the occasional Apollo, and had related to Dionysos in more than one occurence. It was an innocent game, and classifying people either as Olympians or Titans proved to be more fun than he had previously imagined.

It was a game he still indulged in when boredom gained him.

Alec had been an unlikely Kronos. Only a Titan could fit his stature. He was mature beyond his years but could be ruthlessly destructive to the fools who qualified as his enemies. He was also –adorably so, in Magnus’ humble opinion– one for rules. He respected and followed them so long as they were not cruel or senseless. Ironically, it was time that had showed Magnus that, perhaps, it was another Greek figure that suited him best.

Magnus sighed heavily as he stared at the cane in his hands.

He had bought it on a whim, while strolling through Kensington Street with Catarina and Ragnor. The sight of it had reminded him of Alec, as most things tended to do lately.

“It could be a wedding gift,” Catarina had said softly as her eyes followed Magnus’ gaze and fell on the cane.

So Magnus had purchased it, and now it laid in his hands uselessly. The bronze knob was a stunning representation of Atlas carrying the sky on his shoulders, the celestial axis embodied by concrete lines and little stars carved into the sphere.

It was a beautiful piece, but Magnus didn’t know what to do with it.

Life, he had learned, sometimes had its way of sending an answer at the absolute perfect time.

A quiet knock on the door pulled him out of his internal turmoil, and he looked up to see Luke standing in the threshold.

“Hey, Doc,” he said with a smile, putting the cane against the wall as he stood. “Ragnor and Catarina had to go but they were sorry to miss you.”

Luke gave a scarce nod, shifting on his legs, and his demeanor alerted Magnus at once. He straightened on his feet, brows pulled together in worry, but Luke was talking again before he could voice his concerns.

“You have a visitor,” he said. “I will leave you to it.”

Magnus’ frown deepened, as Luke walked away.

For a moment, silence reigned, enveloping him in its familiar comfort. And then, Alec appeared after Luke, stopping in the threshold like he had, and the world must have slipped from his axis because Magnus swore the earth shook beneath his feet, threatening to engulf him whole.

Warmth spread through Magnus like a wildfire, chasing away nightmares and exhaustion, burdens and sorrow. It was impossible, really, to think Alec held such power over him with his presence alone. That he could, just by standing on the other side of the room, just by breathing the same air Magnus did, alleviate his anguish and simultaneously steal all the breath from Magnus’ lungs.

He was more beautiful than Magnus remembered him to be, but he supposed his fallible mind could never do justice to Alec’s ethereal grace.

“Alexander,” he murmured, lower than a prayer but infinitely more sacred.

Alec’s eyes roamed over Magnus’ features as he took a step forward. There was wonder in them, the same awe that had made Magnus feel so impossibly cherished and that hid the reverence that forever inhabited Alec when they were together.

“Magnus,” he responded, a treasure of its own in his mouth.

Words left him, his lips sealed as he took in all the details he had thought would stay a fragment of his fragile memories. He stared into Alec’s hazel eyes, and time seemed to still around them, as if to allow them a moment of peace.

Alec didn’t seem any more capable of speaking, silence laying on them as the impenetrable fog that clouded Hyde Park in the early mornings.

For a moment, Magnus wondered if he was dreaming, but he knew it had to be real, for his mind could never conjure with such accuracy the look of utter marvel Alec was giving him.

And if it were but a dream, Magnus never wanted to wake up.

“It hurts more than I thought it would,” he susurred, “seeing you.”

Alec smiled, a sad and furious thing. “I thought perhaps I had gone mad,” he said. “That I had imagined you because I needed you, because I had dreamed of meeting someone like you. I didn’t realize how insane the thought was until just now, when I saw you again and you were the realest thing I have ever seen.”

Magnus shut his eyes, sucked in a deep breath. “I missed you,” he confessed.

He heard Alec take a step closer, but didn’t dare to open his eyes again, for fear that he would be gone again the next moment. “I fear it’s a little bit more than I can bear,” he said. “Truth is, I think I could truly lose my mind entirely but you would stay.”

Magnus gazed back at him. “You shouldn’t be here, Alexander,” he murmured, his heart clenching in his chest. “It’s too dangerous.”

“Luke is my doctor,” Alec argued with a dismissive shrug. “And besides, I have an excuse, no matter how awful it is.”

Magnus frowned, sending him an inquisitive look. “What do you mean?”

Alec’s sigh did not bode well, but Magnus reluctantly accepted the small envelope he held out for him nonetheless. He had expected the invitation, had prepared himself for it and dreaded it all the same, but seeing it, holding it in his hand and reading the words was on a whole other level. It was real. It was there, under his fingertips, Alec and Lydia’s initials tastefully chiselled through the paper. There was only two weeks left.

“Oh.”

“Lydia knows about us,” Alec said, before Magnus could slip and lose himself in morose thoughts.

His head whipped up in surprise. “Come again?”

“Lydia knows about us,” Alec parroted. “She confronted me about it two weeks ago. I… She told me to come to you then and talk to you but… I was scared. Of getting caught, partly. But for the most part… I think I was afraid of seeing you again and remembering why losing you devastated me like it did.”

Magnus pursed his lips. His hand moved on its own to reach out for Alec, to bring them both the comfort they needed, but he thought better of it, and his limb fell sadly at his side.

“I’m glad you came,” he admitted. “What did Lydia say?”

Alec seemed to hesitate for a moment. It lasted only a second, but it showed in the way he sucked his bottom lip in before releasing it, and Magnus found some kind of amenity in the fact that he still knew and recognized the small mannerisms that made Alec as endearing as he was.

“She had an idea,” he said, “for us to be together. But I do not like it and I don’t think you will, either.”

Magnus lifted an eyebrow in both surprise and inquiry. “Your fiancée wanted _us_ to be together?”

Alec shrugged, running a hand at the nape of his neck. “She knows I won’t love her, and apparently her heart lays somewhere else, too.”

“What was her idea?”

“Her father found a house for you,” Alec eluded. “It is right next to another one, also vacant. She wanted us to buy one and you the other, so we could be close and visit each other. Be together. And she could be with John.”

“And John and I would be your hidden mistresses?” Magnus scoffed, his tone certainly more humorous than his eyes showed. “Until we’d get caught again? Or until she’d get pregnant? Pardon me, but it sounds like yet another prison for everyone involved.”

There was a small smile ghosting on Alec’s lips, and his eyes brimmed with something akin to tenderness. “That is more or less what I told her,” he murmured. “I don’t want that for you. I know how much you value your freedom, and I would never want to take that away from you… even if it means losing you.”

Magnus took a step closer, and this time, nothing stopped him from reaching out to cup Alec’s cheek in his palm. His skin was warm under his touch, his light stubble tickling as Magnus ran his thumb along his jawline.

“Oh, darling,” he said, voice low and reverent, “what about your freedom?”

Alec leaned into his touch, exhaling deeply. “I’m afraid I’ve given up on it,” he said, and anguish flashed in his eyes again. Magnus wanted nothing more than to chase it away.

“I have something for you,” he said, stepping away before he would do something that would condemn them both.

He wanted to kiss him, to feel the feathery touch of his lips again, but he knew too well that it would be an ephemeral relief, a glimpse of hope they could not allow themselves to hold onto. So he turned away from Alec, walking to the wall where he had left his gift.

It seemed to be a sick twist of fate –one more. He had just bought it this afternoon, plagued with the knowledge that he would probably not be the one to give it to Alec. But now he was here, close enough that Magnus had been able to touch him again, but still a thousand miles away, unreachable as he was destined to be.

“I found it this afternoon and it reminded of you,” he explained, clutching the cane in an iron grip. “I didn’t think I would be able to give it to you myself.”

He handed it to him without another word, his heart pounding in his chest. Alec discarded his own cane, and his hands were trembling as they reached out to grab it. His thumb brushed against the bronze, tracing the lines of the celestial sphere, mapping Atlas’ crumbling body.

“It seemed fitting,” Magnus murmured, if only to break the excruciating silence that had settled between them.

Alec glanced back at him, looking somehow more miserable than he had mere seconds ago. His eyes were brimming with unshed tears, and Magnus cursed his impulsive nature.

“I’m sorry.”

Alec shook his head vehemently, clutching the cane within his grasp, with enough force that his knuckles turned a phantomatic shade of white.

“Thank you,” he said.

Magnus braced himself with a deep breath. There would be no ideal moment to divulge the news of his departure, but he had, at least, the opportunity to do it face to face, and it would most likely be the last, so he forced himself to.

“I’m leaving London.”

Alec blinked away from the cane, settling tempestuous eyes on Magnus. “What?”

“Ragnor was offered a teaching position in Rome,” he clarified. “I am leaving with them. It will be safer for you and… and I don’t have to live knowing you are so close and yet so far away.”

“Magnus,” Alec choked out, but whatever he meant to say next stayed stuck in his throat, unable to reach the barrier of his lips.

“They will leave right after the wedding but–” he paused, the tremor of his voice belying his best efforts at keeping a composed facade, “I won’t be there for it. I’m leaving a few days before them with Raphael to ensure that everything is settled when they arrive. I didn’t want to be there. I… I _couldn’t_ be there.”

Alec blinked again, but this time it was to urge away the tears still threatening to slither down his cheeks. Magnus bit the inside of his cheek to do the same.

Alec sucked in a deep breath. “I don’t know what to say,” he murmured. “You have always been better with words than I could ever hope to be.”

Magnus simpered. “You could have fooled me. It was your words that made me fall for you, my love, more than your dashing good looks.”

Alec scoffed out a quiet, mournful laugh. “I stole them all from your favorite poets.”

“And you made them more alive and more meaningful than my own mind ever could,” Magnus argued.

Alec smiled, too, and crossed the distance between them. “Perhaps I should do that again then,” he susurred. His hands found Magnus’ face, the cane abandoned against a bookcase. “ _I hold it true, whate'er befall; I feel it when I sorrow most; 'Tis better to have loved and lost…_ ” Alec trailed off, choking on the words, his voice wavering beyond control.

“ _Than never to have loved at all_ ,” Magnus finished for him.

Alec closed the distance between them, laying his forehead against Magnus’. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Magnus replied.

They had both had to live through many lies, he knew, but nothing had ever felt more true. It resonated through his bones, the very core of his soul.

“Goodbye, my love,” Alec murmured.

He pressed a quick, chaste kiss against his lips, so soft and swift that Magnus barely felt it.

“Goodbye, Captain Lightwood,” he said.

It took a long time after Alec was gone for Magnus to realize that he was; longer even for him to discern the faint beatings of his heart, for he was convinced Alec had taken it with him.

.

It was already night by the time Alec made it back to the mansion. He had walked more slowly than he had realized on his way back to the carriage, partly to acquaint himself with his new cane and partly because every step took him further from Magnus, and it would most likely be definite, this time.

It was a horrendous thought, but he had to believe they would find each other again, if not in this life, in the next one.

His feet were more keen on nostalgia than he had allowed himself, however, for he found himself standing in the study a few moments later, glancing at his surroundings in hope for a miracle.

Nothing had changed since the last time he had been there with Magnus – and yet, everything felt different. With a sigh, he dropped in the armchair and picked up a book haphazardly. It was The Picture of Dorian Gray, and it made Alec snort despite himself.

“Why not?” he murmured under his breath, before leaning back into the chair and opening it.

He had barely gone through the first chapter when the door opened. Alec glanced up from the book, lifting an eyebrow at the sight of Isabelle and Jace standing in the threshold, arguing through whispers, nudging each other none too gently.

Alec cleared his throat, and their quarrel came to a stop as they settled matching sheepish gazes on him.

“Yes?” he asked.

Jace stumbled forward, cursing under his breath, and Alec had no doubt Isabelle had pushed him, the innocent look on her face only serving as further proof.

“So…” Jace started, crossing his arms over his chest, “how’s Magnus?”

Isabelle rolled her eyes in exasperation and moved forward to punch Jace’s shoulder. “You’re an idiot.”

Alec ignored their bickering in favor of quirking an eyebrow in inquiry. “How do you know I went to see Magnus?”

Isabelle’s smile was apologetic. “You were smiling when you left with Meliorn earlier,” she said. “It’s been too long since we last saw you smile.”

Alec swallowed hard. He had been too busy wallowing in his sorrow, in everything he had lost and in his own despair to realize how obvious it must have been to his loved ones, and especially to Isabelle and Jace, who had witnessed first hand how Magnus had managed to lift his spirits with a smile.

“He’s leaving London,” he said, too mentally exhausted to deflect their efforts to be there for him. If his time with Magnus had taught him anything, it was that he could allow himself, every now and then, to let his guard down and confide in the ones who would never judge him. “He’s going to Italy with Ragnor and Catarina.”

“Oh, Alec,” Isabelle sighed, her dark eyes wide with sympathy.

“It was always the only outcome,” he said, and he sounded somehow more defeated than the words themselves.

Jace huffed, shaking his head. There was anger in the gesture, indignation on their behalf, on Alec’s account, and Alec reciprocated it fondly.

“It is how it is,” he continued, levelling them both with as calm a look as he could muster. “ _Dura lex sed lex._ ”

“The law isn’t hard,” Jace retorted, almost offended. “The law is idiotic.”

“But it is the law,” Alec concluded.

It was Isabelle’s turn to scoff out in indignation. She was about to speak, but her eyes broadened, and her mouth fell open rather inelegantly.

“Izzy?”

“Exactly!” she exclaimed, as if her whole process of thought ought to be crystal clear to them both. “The law is the law!”

“Was that really your big epiphany?” Jace replied, his mouth curving up in a mocking smirk.

Isabelle glared at him and punched his shoulder again. Jace winced, rubbing at the undoubtedly sore spot, and Alec felt a little sorry for him. People tended to underestimate Isabelle’s physical strength, but Alec was not among those.

“The law is not the same in Italy, you big idiot!” Isabelle hissed.

It had been a couple of years already, but Alec did remember reading the news about it, perhaps because he had paid careful attention to it. He could recall Jace mentioning it warily at the breakfast table, the ghost of the pain the loss of his father had put him through hanging in the air. Alec had hummed absently, too terrified of giving away his own secret to allow himself more than that.

“Homosexuality was legalised there,” Jace said eventually.

Isabelle nodded, turning back to face Alec, a hopeful flicker in her dark eyes.

“I’m not in Italy,” he replied, heaving out a deep sigh. “And England is far from doing the same thing.”

“But you could go with Magnus!” Isabelle exclaimed.

Alec stilled in his seat, staring at his siblings and their endearing eagerness.

“My life is here,” he said slowly, weighing every word. “ _You’re_ here.”

“Oh, please,” Isabelle scoffed. “We can get by on our own.”

“You probably would have burnt the mansion to ashes if I hadn’t been there to keep an eye on you in the past few months,” Alec argued, deadpan.

Jace barked out a laugh, sending Alec a dubious look. “Keep an eye on us?” he mocked, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “How could you keep an eye on us when you were busy reading poetry to Magnus and charming him into a tragic, forbidden love story?”

Alec scowled, throwing his book to his brother’s face in a rather petulant move.

Jace swallowed a pained moan. “Why does this keep happening?”

Isabelle and Alec’s twin expressions seemed enough of an answer, for he grumbled to himself, but let the matter drop.

“Alec,” Isabelle said softly, drawing his gaze back to her. “We both know you will be miserable all your life if you marry Lydia. I know it sounds insane, and perhaps it is, but would you rather not try at all?”

Alec clenched his teeth, shutting his eyes. He let his head fall back against the chair, sighing. “I asked him, once,” he murmured, and he was sure if it was aimed for his siblings or for himself. “I asked him to run away with me, and he said no.”

“What? Why?”

Alec pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache starting to bloom in his temples. The day had already been unbearably long, and its climax had brought more heartbreak. He didn’t have the strength to let his siblings get his hopes up, knowing too well they would just crash and burn, again.

“Because my life is here,” he repeated. “Because you’re here. Because he was scared I would end up regretting it and resent him for it. Because he knew it was nothing more than a nonsensical dream. He was right.”

“Would you?” Jace asked. His tone had gone grave, and there was no trace of his characteristic smirk anymore. When Alec gave him a puzzled look, he continued, “Regret it and resent him for it?”

Alec snorted, but it lacked all trace of humor. He gave himself a moment, to wrap his mind around what Jace was asking and what Isabelle was hoping for, to think of the possibilities, the dream he had allowed himself to utter one night solely to Magnus.

“Do you know how many lies I have told?” he said eventually, unable to conceal the bitterness that ran through his veins at the injustice of it all. “Magnus said he loved how honest I was, but I lie all the time. I lie to my parents. I lie to the world. I lied to you for a long time. And I hate it. I hate it so much. Sometimes I get lost in my own lies, and I can’t quite distinguish what is real from the alternate reality I created through deception.” He paused when Isabelle sat on the armrest at his side and reached out to take his hand so he could squeeze it gently. “But Magnus… Magnus is the pure and ultimate truth. I could never resent him. He’s true, but he’s also a cruel paradox because as much as he’s real, he will always be an unreachable dream.”

His soliloquy was met by a long silence. He didn’t dare to look at his siblings and see the sympathy in their eyes. They meant well, he knew, but he didn’t want them to look at him with pity, with sorrow and misery because they wished the best for him and he was far too young to have already fathomed that happiness was lost to him.

“Don’t you think it’s worth fighting for?” Isabelle asked in a small voice, reaching out to push away the loose strands of hair from his forehead in a tender gesture.

Alec sighed. “It’s not worth putting him in danger,” he said with finality. “I love you both, and I know you mean well, but you don’t understand, and I am so impossibly glad that you never will. I hope you _never_ understand, truly. Now please let it go. I think I want to be alone for a while.”

Isabelle seemed about to protest but Jace stopped her, laying a firm hand on her shoulder. “Let’s go, Iz,” he murmured, and Alec swore he heard his voice trembling.

She sighed, pressed a soft kiss against Alec’s forehead and moved away reluctantly.

“If you change your mind,” Jace continued in a shy, hesitant voice, “just say the word and we’ll be there. If we have to fight, we’ll fight.”

Isabelle nodded in agreement at his side, and Alec couldn’t help the small, bemused smile looming on his lips.

“Duly noted.”

They disappeared through the door a moment later, and Alec slouched into the armchair in relief, all the tension leaving him at once.

His fingers found the knob of his cane instinctively, and he gripped it tightly.

If he closed his eyes and concentrated hard enough, he could still feel the ghost of Magnus’ lips brushing against his own. And that would have to do.

.

It was a week later that Alec found himself in the study again. The mansion was buzzing, the upcoming wedding keeping everyone busy. He had locked himself in his safe haven in the morning, claiming a headache when it was truly his heart that prevented him from lying further and hold up the facade in front of his parents, who were giving directives left and right to ensure everything was ready on time.

His mother had frowned when he had excused himself after breakfast, but she had let him go, and he had buried himself all day in the words of others hoping it would make him forget Magnus’.

Fate, as always, had a funny way to let itself be known.

It was the middle of the afternoon when a knock on the door teared him away from his reading. He wanted to be alone, he had made it clear, and it was despite himself that he called for the intruder to come in.

Whoever he had expected, it was not Catarina.

She was wearing a clear blue dress that complimented her dark skin greatly, but it was the smile on her face that caught his attention. It was kind, devoid of malice but mischievously perceptive all at once.

“I was hoping I could speak with you for a moment,” she said. “It won’t take more than a minute.”

Alec frowned, but invited her to take the seat in front of him with a quick curtsy of his hand. She obliged, and Alec only spotted the leather-bound notebook in her hands when she laid it on her lap, toying with the small piece of rope wrapped around it.

“I wouldn’t normally do this,” she said without preambule, “but Magnus is unhappy, and it would take a fool not to notice that you are too.”

The look on her face sealed Alec’s lips shut, the intuitive denial that was about to slip out of them staying stuck in his throat. Magnus had told him about Catarina. His voice had always been layered with affection when he spoke of her, and he had mentioned her blunt honesty more than once, but it surprised Alec nonetheless.

“I have met many ugly, terrible people in my life, Captain Lightwood,” she continued, her deep eyes boring into his own. “I have seen with my own eyes the darkest vices humanity has to offer. And I have come to learn that life isn’t always good to good people, and it doesn’t always serve justice to the most despicable ones.”

All Alec could do was nod silently, urging her to go on.

“Magnus is not good, Captain,” she said. “He is the best of us. He can look on anything and find it beautiful. He can look on anything and _make_ it beautiful. And it is the greatest injustice, to me, that in all the years I have known him, he has been unhappy more often than not.”

She paused, her head tilting slightly to the side. It was the most he had ever heard her speak, usually quiet and reserved, the same kind smile always playing on her lips.

Her eyes fell on the notebook still resting on her lap. “But in the letters he sent us during his time here, he was happy,” she told him. “And it took me a little while to realize it had nothing to do with London and everything to do with you, but I didn’t understand the full scope of it until a few days ago.”

“What happened?” Alec asked, his voice raspy.

She brushed a hand over the cover of the book. “He has always trusted me with his writing, to give him advice and guidance, I suppose. And he did it again this time.” She paused again and blew out a deep breath. “I never shared it with anyone before. I like to think this is something he and I share. A testimony to our friendship. But I think I will make an exception this time, because if it opens the door to even the slimmest chance at peace for his tormented soul, then I ought it to him and to myself to try and offer him that.”

“I… I don’t understand,” Alec said.

Catarina smiled and handed him the book. “This is Magnus’ latest novel. The unedited version,” she said. “Please read it, and if you see in it what I saw, let the fear go. There is only one defence against despair: be with those you love.”

She was rising to her feet before Alec could answer and just like that, she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her.

Alec glanced down at the book in his hands, his heart rummaging in his chest.

It was with trembling fingers that he opened it, his breath catching in his throat with anticipation, and dread.

_The love that dare not speak its name._

The words were written in Magnus’ unmistakable handwriting, all graceful, rounded letters, with a tilt at the end of them.

Alec turned the page, and his heart raced again.

 _To Alexander_ , the dedication read, _who gave Wordsworth meaning._

_Though nothing can bring back the hour_

_Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;_

_We will grieve not, rather find_

_Strength in what remains behind._

Alec didn’t stop reading until Morpheus’ arms enveloped him all at once.

He dreamed of Italy.

.

Magnus had never stopped to think about how much one could accumulate in seven months time, but now that he was loading it all in his luggage, he regretted some of his shopping excursions on Oxford Street with Isabelle. He had a thing for scarves, apparently, and he tended to get too emotionally attached to inanimate objects to get rid of them. They had come in handy when Maia had complained about the cold as they strolled along the Thames. or when playing the blindfold game with Max, or to hide the evidence of a passionate night with Alec.

The scarves each had a story to tell, and stories were all he had left. Raphael had not approved, but Magnus had promised to carry his luggage himself and not to complain about it, so his friend had simply rolled his eyes and let him be.

He knew that Magnus could be stubborn about his sentimentality.

He went to grab another one from the wardrobe but stilled on his way to the luggage, recognizing it. It was a deep purple, embroidered with delicate, black leaves that ran its length in graceful patterns. Magnus’ fingers drifted over the fabric, a soft, wistful sigh slipping out of his mouth.

It was a gift from Alec, and Magnus could still recall his flushed cheeks as he had handed it to Magnus on Christmas morning when they had stolen a moment to read in the study. It had been clumsily wrapped, and Alec’s blush had spread all the way to the tip of his ears as he told Magnus how he hoped his choice was not terrible, but that he had picked this one because it was both elegant and refined.

They hadn’t given in their feelings for each other yet at the time, but Magnus had known, right then, that his heart didn’t stand a chance against Alexander Lightwood.

A knock on the door teared him out of his observation and he hastily folded the scarf, blinking out of his stupor.

“For the last time, Raphael, I am perfectly capable of packing on my own,” he grunted, exasperation layered in his tone.

“I’ve been told we share the same tendency to frown, but I thought the resemblances stopped there.”

Magnus’ breath hitched in his throat, whirling around in shock.

“Alexander,” he breathed out.

Alec smiled softly, taking a step forward. He was wearing a pair of Henderson trousers that did marvels for his long legs and a gray Putnam vest over a white dress shirt with a silk puff tie that was slightly askew. The afternoon lights pouring through the window made the hazel of his eyes brighter than sunlight, and Magnus forgot how to breathe altogether.

He was holding the Atlas cane in one hand, and a notebook Magnus recognized at once in the other, and his brows furrowed in confusion.

“Catarina,” Alec said in lieu of an explanation when he caught Magnus’ gaze drifting to the book.

Magnus glanced back at him, heart racing in his chest. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I read it,” Alec replied, holding up the book in his hand. “I read it, and it made me cry. It also made me laugh, but more importantly, I think it made me brave.”

Magnus stared at him silently, confusion stealing the words from his lips.

“I came to ask you a question,” Alec continued, taking another step forward, “in the hopes your answer will be different from the last time I asked you.”

It took Magnus a moment to comprehend the full meaning of Alec’s careful words. When he did, the world seemed to shift and stop around them, to gift them this small point in time, this vow against the universe.

“Alexander,” he said, as if it was the only name he could speak.

“I love you, Magnus,” Alec declared, and it was the first time it didn’t sound like a sentence on his lips. “Only you. _Always_ you. And I am tired of being unhappy. I think we have been unhappy long enough, you and I.” Alec reached out to grab his hand and Magnus met him halfway, clutching it in a desperate grip. “I read it, and it made me realize fear is a trivial feeling when one has a chance to be true. And I don’t want to be true, or anything else for that matter, without you.”

Magnus’ heart clutched in his chest, but it was not painful. “I love you, too,” he murmured. “And I wish nothing more than for you to be true, and happy. My darling, I will rest content if I know you are happy.”

Alec smiled, his thumb rubbing tenderly on Magnus’ knuckles. “You told me to ask you again when I was sure and, my love, I have never been more sure of anything in my entire life.”

Magnus closed the distance between them, laying a hand over Alec’s heart, finding solace in its steady beating. “Then ask, darling.”

Alec let go of his hand to cup his cheek instead, eyes wide and hopeful, filled with more love than Magnus had ever thought he would be the recipient of.

“Will you run away with me to Italy?” he inquired at last, grave and devoted all at once.

“Let us dare,” Magnus replied. “No matter the consequences.”

“No matter the consequences,” Alec echoed, and covered Magnus’ lips with his own.

There was a voice, somewhere in the back of Magnus’ mind. It sounded like an old friend, warm like a summer breeze.

 _To be free, to be loved,_ it sang. _That is the greatest gift of all._

.

Rain fell in chaotic drops outside, the gusting wind carrying them in untamed spirals.

Alec listened to them crashing against the windows as he stuffed as much of his clothes in a bag, running in hasty but quiet steps around the room to open a drawer and grab all the money he had kept cautiously stored there. It had been four days since he and Magnus had talked, four days since he had last seen him, and every second that separated them felt like an hour.

It was already dark, deep enough into the night that most of the mansion was asleep, so when a soft knock at the door interrupted his hunt, he knew it was Isabelle before she walked in, Max on her toes.

Their little brother looked exhausted, his eyes still heavy with slumber. Isabelle had woken him up in the middle of the night after all. His hair was a mess, peeking in every direction, and he was dragging his teddy bear after him, apparently too tired to carry it.

“What’s going on?” he grumbled when Isabelle shut the door behind them.

Alec inhaled sharply, leaving his bag open on the bed to crouch in front of him instead. Isabelle continued packing for him, snorting at the sight of the books he had carefully tucked in a corner of the bag.

“We said only the essentials, Alec,” she murmured teasingly.

“I only packed the essentials,” he retorted, turning back to his little brother and grabbing his shoulders. “Max, I’m really sorry to do this in the middle of the night, but I didn’t have any other choice.”

Max’s clever eyes lingered a moment on the bag, and on the emptiness of the room, before settling back on Alec. “Are you leaving?” he asked.

“I am,” Alec said with a quick nod. “It is hard to explain, but I have to. Izzy will explain everything to you when you are old enough to understand.”

“When are you coming back?” Max inquired in a small, confused voice.

Alec chewed on his bottom lip. A lie would have been easier, but he was tired of those.

“I probably never will,” he murmured.

“Are you going to war again?”

Alec smiled as reassuringly as he could. “This one is worth fighting,” he said.

Max did not seem convinced. “Are you leaving with Magnus?”

Alec frowned, stupor plain on his features. “How did you–”

“I’m smarter than I look,” Max said with a proud smile. He quickly deflated under Alec’s dubious look. “Also, I overheard Maia and you talking two days ago.”

“You mean you were spying on us,” Alec deadpanned.

Max shrugged, unapologetic, but quickly simmered down. “I will miss you,” he said faintly.

Alec pulled him into his arms, holding him tight against his chest. “I will miss you too. Pay attention to your lessons and be good.”

Max nodded against him, sniffling discreetly.

“Alec,” Isabelle called softly, laying a hand on his shoulder. “It’s almost time. We have to meet Luke, Raphael and Magnus at the harbour in an hour.”

Alec sighed, but he could not find an ounce of regret in his heart. “Go,” he told her, gently pushing Max to her. “I will meet you and Jace at the gate in ten minutes.”

She left without another word, a reluctant Max following after her. Alec shut the bag, pulled it over the shoulder and took one last look at his bedroom. There was nothing left for him there, and he found it was easier than he had imagined to close the door behind him.

He made his way down the stairs quietly, his heart rummaging in his chest. Simon was waiting for him there, a metallic box in his hands.

“I made you some shortcakes for the road,” he murmured, handing it to Alec, who quickly tucked it in his bag. “They’re Magnus’ favorites.”

Alec scoffed out a silent laugh. “Thank you, Simon.”

Simon nodded sternly, but it lasted just a second before his jovial grin was back on his face. “Good luck, Captain,” he said. “I’ve heard Italian food is amazing.”

Alec winked at him, feeling ludicrously ecstatic. “Certainly not as amazing as yours, Simon.”

Simon beamed. “Why, of course not,” he replied, and Alec chuckled, before giving him one last grateful nod and heading to the hall.

There, he grabbed his Winthrop topcoat and swiftly shrugged it on. He was about to open the door when a faint but stern voice called his name in his back.

Alec froze, his fingers stopping halfway to the doorknob, dread slipping in his veins and chasing away the euphoria he had felt mere seconds ago.

He turned around slowly, his heart in his throat.

“Mother.”

Maryse was wearing a night robe, her long hair spilling on her shoulders in waves, and the look on her face was one of utter bewilderment.

“It’s the middle of the night. Where are you going?”

“Nowhere,” he blurted out, which was admittedly not the greatest answer.

Maryse’s dark eyes fell onto the bag in his hand. “You’re going nowhere, with a travelling bag?” she inquired, but it didn’t call for an answer. “Alec, what is this? You’re getting married in two days.”

“No,” Alec said calmly, “I am not.”

He hadn’t planned on seeing her, let alone telling her half of the reasons why he was leaving, but she was there now and there was no stopping him.

“What do you mean you are not?” she huffed out, exasperated. “Everything is ready. The Queen’s children are coming!”

“You will have to apologize to them for me, Mother,” he replied. “I won’t marry Lydia. Please apologize to her on my behalf, too.”

It did nothing to soothe the irritation on her features. “This was your idea!” Maryse hissed between clenched teeth.

“Because I didn’t think I had any other choice,” Alec answered, urging himself to keep his voice low. “But I do. I thought I was condemned to a life of misery and loneliness, but I was wrong. I can have more, and I’m willing to fight for it, even if it means I have to fight you too.”

Maryse didn’t reply immediately, taking in the sternness of Alec’s features, and the stormier look in his eyes.

“I don’t understand,” she said eventually.

“I fell in love, Mother,” Alec said, bracing himself with a deep breath. “I fell in love with a man, and he made me believe I can have more than the lifetime of misery I had thought myself condemned to. And I know we can’t be happy here, but if there is even the slightest chance that we can be together somewhere else, I will take it, and there is nothing you can say or do that will stop me.”

“This isn’t you,” she whispered bemusedly. Shock was written all over her graceful features.

Alec gritted his teeth. “It is,” he murmured. “It has always been.”

He heard the bell of the church ring in the distance, announcing midnight.

“I have to go,” he said, and his fingers trembled as he reached for the doorknob again. “Goodbye, Mother.”

“Alec,” she muttered pleadingly.

He shook his head and opened the door. The rain was pouring by now, but he simply tightened his coat around his neck, ready to face this storm and all the following ones for Magnus.

Before he could take a step outside, however, a strong hand closed around his wrist and pulled him back inside. Alec was about to push it away when his mother tugged forcefully, urging him forward.

She wrapped her hands around his shoulders, hugging him closely, but she never said a word. He relaxed into her embrace, her arms squeezing a fraction tighter, and Alec exhaled a steady breath.

The last stroke of midnight rang all the way to his ears. “Goodbye, Mom,” he murmured again. “Tell Father Sebastian I will see him in Hell.”

He left without a look over his shoulder.

He had many memories in this mansion, but he was heading towards the man who had made all of them inconsequent, the man who had replaced his sleepless nights with bliss, the man who had spoken words of love and freedom and had brought Alec back his faith in both.

When he found himself with Magnus two hours later, rocking to the rhythm of the waves in the steamboat that Luke had graciously paid for as a makeshift means of escape, he thought that perhaps, Magnus was more than just a man.

Magnus laughed when Alec murmured just that into his ear, his fingers trailing on the skin of his arm. They had not let go of each other from the moment they had sailed away, their hands clasped together as they waved goodbye to Luke, Maia, Jace and Isabelle standing at the harbour, in spite of the rain.

Magnus had been an apparition that night, more beautiful than Alec had ever seen him before. Perhaps it was the taste of freedom that made his mind weak to Magnus’ everything. Perhaps it was that Alec could see clearly, finally, for the first time in his life.

“What am I, then?” Magnus muttered against his lips.

He was the splendour in the grass, the glory in the flower.

“ _Peace and rest at length have come, All the day's long toil is past,_ ” Alec replied, fingers dancing on the beloved features, watching in awe as Magnus relaxed under his touch, his amber eyes shining under the moonlight. “ _And each heart is whispering, ‘Home, Home at last.’_ ”

Magnus kissed him, and all the poetry in the world paled in comparison.

He was home. Free at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poems and references in this chapter are, in the right order:  
> \- Be Drunk by Charles Baudelaire  
> \- In Memoriam by Alfred Tennyson  
> \- The title of Magnus’ novel is from Two Loves by Lord Alfred Douglas, and a tribute to Oscar Wilde.  
> \- Ode: Intimations of Immortality by William Wordsworth  
> \- Home At Last by Thomas Hood
> 
> Thank you all for following this story, it was an emotional rollercoaster for everyone involved, me included.  
> All the love to my incredible beta Jackie, thank you for putting up with me <3.
> 
> I'm (mostly) on twitter [@_L_ecrit](https://twitter.com/_L_ecrit) and sometimes on tumblr [@lecrit](http://lecrit.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Until next time.
> 
> All the love,  
> Lu. ❤


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